So Soars the Young Falcon
by Salamon2
Summary: Denys Arryn did not die at the Battle of the Bells. He instead killed Jon Connington, preventing him from ordering the retreat, leading to the decimation of the Royal Army of King's Landing with the swarming of the rebel reinforcements upon the walled town of Stoney Sept. Everything changes from there.
1. Denys

**DENYS**

It would be the fight that would define the rest of his life e'en before it had begun he knew it would. He charged forward, his armor clunking against the stone laid into the earth of the marketplace. Steel met steel as Denys engaged Aerys' new Hand in single combat. During the fight, Denys managed to knock Connington's helmet off, only further enraging the red-haired youth. Around the fountain depicting House Tully's sigil, they fought, each attempting to use the fountain to their benefit to jump up for a higher stance, or to slip behind the statue itself, but it was Denys who slipped upon the wet stone of the fountain, and fell onto his back on the ledge of the fountain, his sword slipping from his grasp and plopping straight into the water. In that instant Denys saw the recognition in Connington's eyes, all he need do was slip his sword 'neath Denys' helmet and so would end the life of a traitor.

_So this is how it is to end?_

Knowing his life's end was near, Denys chose in that instant rather than resigning himself to it, to instead challenge it.

_No, not this day!_

He took his free hand in the fountain, cupped it and through the water straight into the unguarded eyes of Jon Connington as he drew back to swing his sword. The sudden contact with which the water met the red-haired man's eyes caused him to flinch, lose his balance, and fall to his knees, allowing Denys enough time to reach back into the fountain, grab his fallen sword and knock Connington's out of his grasp before he fully recovered from wiping his eyes. Denys was about to ask the man to yield as his prisoner, but Connington instead of giving up moved to reach for some weapon at his belt. Instinctively, Denys stabbed Connington down the opening at the neck of Connington's armor, slipping the sword 'neath the chain mail. Denys saw shock fill the eyes of Jon Connington as he pulled the blood stained sword from him after having left his mark. That face was the last one the griffin made as he fell over dead on his side. Denys however couldn't relish his victory over Connington's death as he took stock of the market around him.

The Stony Sept was filled with soldiers—Royal Army, Starks, Tullys, and Baratheons as well as Arryns. Men fought through the streets, on top of roofs, and in every square inch of this godforsaken walled town.

When the day was through, the Royal Army of King's Landing was no more. The Stoney Sept was bathed in blood, and a more than decisive victory for Robert Baratheon had been made to make up for the defeat at Ashford. The rebel forces had suffered some casualties, though not as severe as the Royal Army—the minuscule number of stragglers of which were taken as hostages to be sent to Riverrun.

Denys met with Lords Stark and Arryn when the fighting was over. Robert was still recovering from his wounds that had caused him to take refuge in this walled death-trap in the first place. Hoster Tully was also recovering from wounds he had received. Upon seeing his state the two Lords Paramount reacted as though the Stranger himself had come to visit them.

"Gods, Denys," commented Lord Stark, Ned as he'd known him growing up in the Vale. When his scheming father had sent Denys to the Eyrie to ingratiate himself into Lord Arryn's good opinion, Denys had befriended the younger Ned Stark and Robert Baratheon. They had enjoyed games of childish foolishness and learned all at once how to fight. Denys was the elder by a good half a decade, but his father had been so poor, he had been in the beginning upon the same level as Ned and Robert—though he had quickly made up for lost time with diligent practice.

"What did you do, cousin?" asked Lord Arryn, his suspicious eyes narrowing and examining him up and down.

"I slew Connington," announced Denys rather quietly. To his ears he almost sounded rather serene—when inside he felt far from it.

"With the Army of King's Landing defeated beyond rallying, and the Hand of the King dead—" began Lord Arryn

"That leaves nothing between us and King's Landing. Take the city and we might just be able to end the war," finished Lord Stark.

It was a slim chance, what with no word of Prince Rhaegar's location still, but if they hurried before word of the slaughtering that the Stoney Sept had become well-known enough to give the city enough time to fully prepare for a siege, they might just be able to catch it off guard and mayhaps, with the luck of the Seven, take it. They would have to march and march quickly upon the city—for that was all they could do, now.


	2. Aerys

**AERYS**

News of the routing of the rebel Robert's forces would soon arrive, of that Aerys was sure. The overambitious Stag had been defeated at Ashford by Tarly and fled like the scared fawn he was to the Stoney Sept. Even a young griffin ought not to have much trouble with a wounded deer—as Varys' spies had reported was the reason Robert had taken refuge in that worthless town of little name.

Aerys had made the griffin Hand of the King simply so he could go and take out the up jumped fawn—mayhaps if he were lucky, his son's friend and long-time suggestion would also get himself tragically killed, and he would have less to worry about on his son's end. His foolish son, who'd stolen the wolf bitch and caused this entire mess to begin with—though Aerys could not say it wasn't an entertaining mess, watching the overly proud Northern dogs come to heel beneath the green flames and iron leash had been entertaining to say the least, though no one else in the throne room had found it as amusing as he. Given the chance they'd all betray him… in a heartbeat. So he gave little shows to remind them what happens to traitors in Westeros. The youngest Kingsguard, the little lion cub, had especially squirmed—he would be next to be burned alive if his father so much as thought of treason.

Just then word of a messenger from the Riverlands reached Aerys, breaking him from his reverie. He bade for his guards to let the man enter the throne room, and Aerys adjusted himself on the chair, feeling a slight knick from one of the swords that made the chair, but Aerys cared not. For what was a little blood for sitting the most powerful throne of all of Westeros?

The messenger was bloodied, tired, and looked as though he had half ran in his armor all the way here from the Stoney Sept. He had the crest of one of the pitiful Houses on Massey's Hook—not even worth mentioning they were that low.

"So I've waited for a fortnight to hear news, and my Hand sends me a Hook's son to tell me of the battle?" asked Aerys.

"w—We…"

"Yes, yes, get on with it."

"We lost… your grace."

A gasp went round the courtroom, followed by a wave of whispers. That word, that word that he had ne'er expected to hear, "Lost?"

"Aye… badly."

"The Royal Army?"

"Gone. It was a massacre. Only myself and a handful of other stragglers managed to escape it. The rebel army was on our heels, they're likely at most three days away, your grace."

Panic swept through the throne room, some of the nobles seeking to escape through any exit possible. Aerys nodded his head to his guards and they all blocked the exits. He'd have no one flee the capital like scared little birds before a storm of swords descended upon them.

"So instead of doing your duty and killing that fawn, you ran? Seize the traitor!" snapped Aerys, and he smiled with delicious delight as the young man's eyes went wide with horror as he was taken by what guards who were not posted at the exits.

After the death of the two mutts, none dared disobey him.

"Bring me Lord Rossart. I have use for him and his guild," called out Aerys.

Four vials should do the trick. Pity there weren't more time, but one for this traitor and then three to awaken the true fighting force of the Targaryeon dynasty.

Just then the Dornish whore that called herself his gooddaughter, cradling his young infant grandson, came before the throne—the entire room growing silent as she did. She stood like her family's house words suggested as she spoke. Her voice howe'er betrayed the true weakness hidden just underneath her Dornish skin.

"Your grace, I beg of you, spare this man his life. He's done nothing but try to help us—"

"Did I ask you to speak? No! Out of consideration for my grandson, I'll let what you've said pass. But were he not still at your teat, I'd have you join this traitor—now return to your place," hissed Aerys.

Elia, clutching her infant son even closer to her bosom than before, causing the infant to mew with displeasure, simply stood there, challenging him. He would not be shown up by a Dornish slut!

It was easy enough to punish her, "Guards, take my grandson to a wet nurse."

The implication was enough, young Aegon was ripped from the slut's arms and as she protested and screamed, Aerys smiled—that would show the slut.

He almost giggled as he commanded, "Now Elia, _bow_ to me. Or you'll never see young Rhaenys as well."

Elia glared daggers at Aerys, but slowly and with some difficulty, she complied to his demands. He then had whatever guards were left escort her to her chambers, where she would be locked up.

Yes… no one dared question him after the death of the two mutts and not feel his wrath—even the sun bowed to him.


	3. Jon

**JON**

They were a day's and a half ride from King's Landing when a rider had managed to reach them having ridden after them from the Stoney Sept. The news had come from the Vale and it bode ill for young Denys—young, his boy cousin had long since grown into a man and made a family of his own. A family that now due to misfortune was dead.

"How?" was all the Denys asked of him at first. They were riding side by side, slightly separated from the army marching at their side. Their forces following the Blackwater east towards where it flowed into the bay with which is shared its name that the capital sat at the junction of.

Jon sighed before answering, knowing that it seemed such a senseless way to die, "The pox."

Denys for what it was worth held himself together, though Jon could see beneath his stone face was a well of emotions just waiting to burst forth and o'er take his young cousin.

"Annalys and Jasper both?" asked Denys with an uncertainty Jon had not seen since the man had first arrived at the Eyrie all those years ago. He asked as though Jon might have been mistaken when saying that all of his family was dead.

"Aye, both," completed

"The Seven bless them. We'd barely had our time together with this senseless war."

"Aye, but mayhaps this senseless war saved your life. You could have been home in the Vale and died of the pox with them."

"It would have be more of a blessing to have been there than here."

Jon recalled his niece well. He had watched her grow up and visited her and her many sisters at Ironoaks many a time. She had always been a cheerful girl, quick to smile—though perhaps a bit vain—she would not want Denys to be so down on himself. "Denys, I know that Annalys would not care for you to wish—"

"Don't say that, cuz. I have overheard such sentiments until they've grown trite in my ears," interrupted Denys.

"They may be trite, but it does not stop them from being any less true. Annalys was a pleasant happy girl all her life—she would have liked for you to have mourned her of course, but to think such thoughts as it would be better to be dead than here is a madness that she would not have tolerated, of that I know I can be sure."

Denys was silent for a few moments before asking, "Then what am I supposed to do? Tell me, for I fear I haven't a clue."

"Don't give up. Fight this war to make such a world as they should have lived in."

"And what is the point if they don't live in them?"

"Do you not have goodsisters who deserve just as much to live a life of peace?"

"Aye, though I barely know them."

"That is what the peace is for—to come to know them. Should we fail in our endeavors all our heads and those of our families will be upon spikes. There is no other option but to win it for them."

"And we must do this, all of it, all for the want of one woman. A woman who set a million men to march," said Denys ruefully.

"Wars have been fought for more trivial things, like a hollow crown. At least a woman can return the love you honor her with."

"That she can," admitted Denys, and they continued their ride on silently.

When they made their camp for the night, Jon saw Robert had joined them this night to speak of strategy.

"The last raven from Storm's End said they were still under siege," blustered

"A raven which arrived more than a few moons and several marches ago, Robert. We know not when King's Landing heard of the Royal Army's defeat. It could be that with news of our victory at the Stoney Sept, Aerys could have sent word to Tyrell and his host to come north and take us by surprise shortly after beginning our siege," countered Ned wisely, Jon felt proud of his wolf pup turned man—he'd always had a mind for tactics growing up—not a brilliant mind, but quite a formidable one nonetheless.

"Then what would you suggest, Ned? I'm tired, I'm damn thirsty, and I need a wench. Tell me what we should do and it shall be done."

"I'd send out our fastest riders south through the Kingswood to see if any armies are amassing hidden within its foliage. I'd send them out now, so they might have the cover of darkness to hide their tracks."

"Then what are you doing standing around here telling me about it, man, do it!" blustered Robert, and Ned gave a serious nod of his head and left the tent. As he did so, Jon clutched Ned's shoulder as he passed, and gave him a proud smile and nod of his head to show his approval—at which Ned's frozen face seemed to soften with its own sort of boyish pride at having pleased him. _His_ boys, they were all growing up, but still just as much the boys they had been when they'd come to him a dozen years ago. Gods he hoped he'd have the chance with Lysa to be a father as much as he had been to Ned, Robert, and Denys.

"Whad deenk you of dis plan, Jon?" asked Robert as he uncorked a bottle of cheap wine with his teeth. Having done so he spit it out, aiming for the dragon piece on the tactical map stationed at King's Landing. He managed to hit it, knocking it over. Robert laughed over his success and then drank straight from the bottle.

"If only it were that simply, your grace," answered Jon.

"Ned's plan?" asked Robert with some slight confusion.

"I mean your shot," explained Jon

Robert chuckled as he realized what he'd meant, "Oh… right. Still, you've said nothing of Ned's plan."

Jon felt his chest as though it were 'bout to burst, "'Tis a sound strategy, your grace."

"Quit calling me that, Jon, it don't sound right! Seven hells, calling you Jon don't sound right to me either," admitted Robert as he place his boot upon the table and pushed to lean back in his chair so that two legs were off the ground.

"But that is what you shall be, when we win this war. It would be best to get used to it now," counseled Jon.

"Aye, but till I'm crowned, and anointed with the seven holy oils, I'm no King yet," countered Robert

"True, but never doubt that you will be crowned," stated Jon.

Robert, withdrew his leg from the table, causing the front chair legs to return to the ground. He then looked up at Jon, staring him straight in the eyes, suddenly growing quiet and somber as he asked, "Do you think I was right to go to war?"

Jon knew what Robert needed now, knowing the lad to only become serious when something truly troubled him, "Of course, your grace. If not for Lyanna's sake, nor Ned's father and brother, know that if we had not gone to war, your head would already be on a spike. Aerys was the first to break faith with his lords and nobles. Only a tyrant would refuse to repay the wrongs committed against his subjects—and those that follow him simply have not seen the results of his madness for themselves."

"Or are too afraid to oppose him," added Robert.

Jon leaned forward in his own chair to help emphasize his point as his spoke, "There are other ways to be a king than ruling through fear. Fear will buy you strength today but it will not hold for all eternity."

Robert laughed and took a swig, then saying, "It's lasted the Targaryeons a little over two and a half centuries."

"Even they did not always rule through fear, your grace. They weren't always good kings, there weren't always bad kings—some were even mediocre at best. But that matters not. What matters is what kind of King do you want to be?" asked Jon

Robert, still quite quiet, admitted, "I want not to be King. I'd rather live out the rest of my days being a sellsword or fighting in some goddamn war between the Essosi cities than sitting on my ass on that goddamn uncomfortable throne. It should have been Stannis who was born the elder. Or hell, Ned should have been my elder brother."

Jon sighed before speaking, "Unfortunately we do not always get the opportunity to do what we want with our lives, especially those of us born to a higher class. It is our job to protect and take care of the small folk and nobles 'neath our care. Like a wise parent, be kind, patient, and supportive of them. Guiding them through the mistakes they shall make, sacrificing our own pleasures so that they might have a bit more, comforting them when things seem ready to go wrong, and applauding them in their victories both big and small. Ne'er being o'erbearing, but being a firm rock for them to cling to. Steady, reliable, dependable. That's our calling in life, and a King, why he's called to that moreso than the rest of us. He sacrifices his own pleasures so that those beneath him may have the benefit of having theirs."

"Aye, I suppose it to be so," admitted Robert as he finished the bottle.

The next morning, as they rode out, Jon took time to ride with Ned, wanting to express his compliments at the man he'd seen him become through the victory, though knowing it not the best way to begin the conversation with Ned.

"When do you think we'll have word from the riders?" asked Jon

Ned reported as though he were still a schoolboy repeating his lessons, "I sent our four best riders off with a raven each. They are supposed to ride as far south as the origin of the Wendwater, and if they see any sign of an army to send the ravens."

Jon smiled, saying, "Even better. You've truly grown into your own, especially at the Stoney Sept, Ned—you were a true commander of men there."

Ned, always eager for praise—as any second son he'd known was—accepted this, but said nothing in reply to this, his face growing dark.

With some growing concern for the quiet wolf, Jon asked, "What is it?"

"The Stoney Sept was a senseless messy blood bath. There was no front line, there was no rear guard, it was just a crucible of death and violence," said Ned darkly, his eyes narrowed and unreadable.

The Stoney Sept had been Ned's first true battle, and what a battle to have seen as your first taste of war.

Jon thought on what he was to say in response to this before finally admitting, "All battles are senseless messy blood baths, but the fact you thought to bar the gates so that the Royal Army could not escape the town, and we'd not have to fight them again, t'was likely what won the day. Though I am pained to admit it, war is a grisly business, Ned. One that we fight to keep our families from knowing themselves."

Ned said nothing for a moment, before replying "After the battle, I went out to see what part of the town was not touched by the fighting—none were. They'd even fought on top of the roofs, in the fountain, and e'en in the homes of some of the smallfolk. I found a dead smallfolk boy, weaponless and hardly beginning to become a man, just like Benjen is…how was his death honorable?"

"It wasn't," admitted Jon, for he could not imagine any possible way that such a death could have any honor.

"We need to end this war soon—before much worse can occur," Ned spoke adamantly, with a kind of dedication Jon had ne'er seen in him before.

"Aye, and we shall soon enough," reassured Jon.

Just then a raven came soaring into view and returned to the Maester they'd kept in their company. Ned looked at him and Jon knew that the time for questioning themselves was over. Another battle loomed ahead.


	4. Rhaegar

**RHAEGAR**

Lewyn Martell accompanied Rhaegar as they rode through the Kingswood at the head of the Royal Army of Dorne. Truth be told, he was rather terrible company, not speaking a word to him the entire way, though he rarely left his side. Prince Lewyn, one of his father's Kingsguard had been sent to gather the Dornish to siege of Storm's End moons ago, but with the news that soon to be broken by the Tyrell forces encamped outside the walls, they had continued north through the Prince's Pass to join the Royal Army of King's Landing and rout Robert Baratheon's weakened forces.

Seven hells, the battle might already be over since Jon Connington had been rumored at Bitterbridge to have been put at the head of the army. Rhaegar thought fondly of his friend—nay his brother, for that was what Jon was to him—and wished him well in his battle, while praying to the warrior.

Upon leaving the Tower of Joy, Rhaegar had told Lyanna not to worry, he would not have yet another of her family killed if it were in his power to prevent it. Though secretly he held that if Jon did kill her brother in battle he would count himself lucky for not having to deal with the situation at all. For some strange reason Lyanna had not taken to this news well. She had stared at him as though he were some creature she had ne'er known before, and when he had tried to assure her of his good intentions to do right by her remaining kin by promising to only banish her traitor elder brother while keeping the younger as Lord of Winterfell when ascending to the throne himself, Lyanna merely continued to view him with her rather suspicious looking eyes.

What more did the she-wolf want from him? Her elder brother was a declared traitor, and traitors should rightly die. That he was willing to banish him was a great mercy and favor for her. Could she not see that? But then, these days Rhaegar knew not what Lyanna truly wanted and he doubted she did either. To entice her to come with him he had promised her his love and freedom after she had given birth and then weaned Visenya. He promised her everything for the sake of Visenya. He had e'en ensured her safety by finding a remote tower to call hers until Visenya was of age to be brought to court. He had provided everything and what did he get in return? Nothing but silent suspicious stares, that's all she had done since the rumors of her father's and eldest brother's deaths had reached Dorne. She had wanted to leave then—had even tried to escape—but she had not yet gotten with child, like she had promised him, and the dragon must have three heads.

Everything was ready for when Visenya was to come, of that Rhaegar prided himself on. He had waited until Lyanna was sure she was truly pregnant before leaving—he had figured the cycle of Lyanna's moon's blood relatively simply and during the key days had focused all his attention on getting Lyanna with child. As the weeks turned into moons, Lyanna had not been as eager as she had at first, but Rhaegar continued despite what she may have said. His son, the prince who was promised needed a Visenya. The dragon would have three heads and the song of ice and fire would begin… his son, the Prince who was Promised, would then save Westeros and all would be as it should. The only problem was the drunken stag and his followers. Why must these lords be so difficult? Could they not understand that this was what was best for the realm? No, all they could see was a small trifle of a personal slight—they were such selfish men to not see beyond that. Such matters were below the consideration of a dragon. A dragon thought of the good of the whole realm—not just some insignificant corner of it—and did what was best for them all, e'en if it meant offending some lord's honor. The dragon must have three heads, or else the Prince would fail, song of ice and fire would not come to pass and Westeros would be plundged into eternal winter.

Lyanna's moods must be due to the babe. She was but only a few moons big with child, but he had seen his own mother act abnormally when she had had Viserys—and his otherwise sweet Elia had grown rather vicious herself when with Rhaenys and Aegon. Yes that was what it must be. The child was simply bringing out more of the wolf in Lyanna that was all—dragons it seemed had that capability.

Rhaegar was brought out of his reverie then by Lewyn, as two of the Dornish men dragged a man with a grey direwolf sigil upon the tunic over his armor was brought before him. The man was swollen, beaten, and bloodied, and he looked upon Rhaegar and Lewyn with that strange mixture of fear and hate that Rhaegar

"A rebel spy, my Princes," clarified one of the men dragging

"A Stark spy it seems. What are you doing so far south of the Neck, little wolf?" chided Lewyn

The man spoke not a word. Rhaegar was about to demand the lad with brown hair answer his father's Kingsguard, but the Dornish prince interceded.

"Let me handle this runt, my Prince," he assured in that soothing Dornish manner of him that was at once assuring and frightening—at least it seemed so to

"What's your name, boy?" asked Prince Lewyn. Still the lad was silent. Prince Lewyn knew his task and took off his gauntlet and struck the boy's face yet again, repeating his question once more.

"Cassel… Jory Cassel," answered the boy with some trepidation.

"There now was that so hard?" asked the Prince.

It was several more minutes and a few more reminders of the pain of the gauntlet before Rhaegar had heard enough of the Northern boy's tale to understand the full grasp of their situation. He was bound and would be forced to walk as a prisoner the rest of the way to King's Landing, which they must make with all haste.

_Seven be merciful… please let Jon have lived!_

As Prince Lewyn mounted his horse once more, Rhaegar brought himself back to the present and took stock of the Kingsguard's face—it was hardened as stone and unforgiving.

"You were rather harsh on the boy," commented Rhaegar coolly.

"You may not care for my niece's life, goodnephew, but _I_ do," said the Prince stiffly as he continued to accompany him along the journey, picking up their pace as they continued on the Roseroad through the Kingswood.


	5. Tywin

**TYWIN**

Word had traveled up the Gold Road of the utter defeat of the Royal Army of King's Landing at the Stoney Sept by rebel forces as though it were a hare's sprint. All the smallfolk could speak of was how the rebel forces under command of the "vicious Northern Wolf" had rescued their king from what would have otherwise been a slaughter in the other direction. The tales told of how Ned Stark had closed the gates to the town to trap the Army of King's Landing inside and slaughtered them.

Tywin knew not what to think of these rumors, after all these were the same people who swore that they had seen him dance on the dead bodies of the Reynes of Castemere. Tywin would never have done anything so garish. Likewise the amount of truth in this tale that reached Casterly Rock was likely to be little at all beyond the fact that the new young Lord Eddard Stark—a second son everyone had thought of little consequence—was now considered responsible for turning the fate of the entire rebellion and putting King's Landing in a delicate bind. For years everyone had forgotten that the North existed in Westeros—they kept to themselves and rarely traveled south of the Neck that it was easy to simply forget about them. But now it seemed after nearly two and half centuries of keeping to themselves the Starks and the North were committing themselves more firmly to the realm by having a hand in choosing who sat upon the Iron Throne. Clearly they were a power to eye with caution. But Tywin knew one other thing, you may put a man on the throne today, but it will be his children that will reign after him, and so whoe'er became the Baratheon's Queen would secure the succession of the new king's line.

And besides, Tywin knew best when to act. Let the Starks, Baratheons, Arryns, and Tullys march to King's Landing and put it to siege. Before they take the city and punish Aerys for his crimes they shall decimate their forces. Then they'll be in need of reinforcements when they turn around to find the Tyrells and Martells—for once united in common cause—knocking at the gates they just smashed down. And it would be then that the Lannisters would arrive, just in time to relieve the new king, and in so doing secure that there would be a Lannister Queen.

Tywin called for Cersei immediately to come to his solar. While he waited for her he took a pleasant walk out onto the terrace his solar opened up to. He spied the vastness of the Sunset sea before him, and admired its haunting beauty. Below in the small courtyard that served as a practice yard he saw the mistake attempting to be taught how to fight with a sword. He was utterly useless, but he was still a Lannister, and a Lannister should know how to defend oneself. As it was Tywin saw the dwarf would likely ne'er be able to do so.

"You summoned me, father?" asked a light voice, and Tywin turned to see his daughter, who held a beauty even more stunning than his Joanna had at her age.

"I have long promised that you would be Queen one day. Have I not?" asked Tywin.

"Aye, but beyond becoming Prince Rhaegar's second mistress, how I am to get close to him," scoffed his daughter.

"There will soon be a new family upon the Iron Throne, and he is as of yet, unmarried," remarked Tywin.

"You mean to throw your support behind the rebels, then?" asked Cersei.

"Robert will be the rightful king when you marry him. Forget all this talk of rebels."

"Of course father," answered Cersei.

Tywin then dismissed his daughter and called for his maester and steward. If he intended to begin gathering his forces, he would need to start writing the letters for the ravens immediately.


	6. Eddard

**EDDARD**

When he closed his eyes he was back in the Stoney Sept. The chaos of the battle all around him as men ran everywhere fighting any and all who got in the way. He saw the men jumping from roof to roof, knocking over and destroying anything and everything that dared get in the way of their fight. Battles were not meant to be fought this way—amongst a town. It should have been in the fields outside of the town, not the streets of it. But what stuck to Ned's mind most of all was the sight of the smallfolk who had died—killed for no reason beyond that they had been there. He saw a woman with her skull bashed in cradling the bloodied corpse of her infant. He saw an old man with his neck slashed open. And lastly there had been the boy bout Benjen's age, stabbed clean through his chest. These deaths had been declared "accidents" officially that none laid claim to having committed. The thought that the killers of these smallfolk could use the confusion of battle for the excuse to be brutal to people who didn't even fight back chilled Ned to his bone.

The war must end soon and swiftly, to protect the lives of more smallfolk. This meant defeating the approaching army quickly and then turning around and sieging the capital, but how to do so without incurring more loss than they could afford? The Tyrells had the largest army in all the seven kingdoms and if they turned north to end the siege of Storm's End and join the Dornish the raven had warned were marching through the Kingswood… they'd be outnumbered and pressed against the walls of King's Landing to be slaughtered like sheep. This meant they had to take the battle to the Dornish before they could be joined by the Tyrells—which meant fighting in the forest.

Their force arrived outside of the city before the approaching army of Dornishmen marching up the Roseroad was to arrive. This gave them the opportunity to choose the best ground for the battle to come. They would choose how the battle to come would be fought.

"We can't let them get to the city and retreat behind the safety of its damn thick walls," stated Robert.

"Aye, but we can't put our backs up against its walls and expect the city to not shoot arrows at us," countered Jon

"We must take the battle to them," offered Ned.

"In the Kingswood? Where can a proper battle take place amongst those thick trees?" asked Denys.

Robert gave a knowing smirk, before saying, "We'll fight as we did in the Stoney Sept. That worked well for us before, didn't it?"

"Exactly. What is a Dornishman's preferred weapon of choice?" asked Ned rhetorically to make his point.

_A spear_, echoed through the silence of the tent and Ned knew his point had been made.

Ned continued, "I suggest we put a small force of men down here," he said pointing to where the Roseroad and Stormroad came together at a crossroads, "say 6,000 or so, and have the rest of our forces at the edge of the Kingswood and along the road leading to King's Landing with archers hidden amongst the trees. That way when the Dornish attack, our small force gives them a little battle, then retreats back to the edge of the forest where the rest of our forces will lie in wait. We draw them down the road with the promise of getting us out into the open where they'll be able to better fight with their spears, but—"

"They'll then fall into our trap before they can leave the trees," finished Jon.

Ned arranged the pieces out on a map for Robert and Denys. At the end of the Kingsroad he placed a small wooden block with a stag relief carved into it. At the crossroads a block with the Stark direwolf, and on either side of the stag were blocks with a falcon and a fish. Then taking a block in the shape of a sun, he moved the sun up to the crossroads, then the direwolf fell back to where the stag was at the edge of the forest, with the Sun right behind. Ned then used some unmarked blocks to exemplify archers hidden in the trees along either side of the road, explaining that when the retreating force had drawn them to where the archers were waiting, that the archers would then let loose a volley upon the Dornish, while the forces at the end of the road would block the escape of the Dornish into the fields beyond. Then Ned moved the falcon and fish blocks down on either side of the sun block and explained that after the volley had been let loose they would then swarm the remaining forces from either side.

"The ones that try and escape into the Kingswood or back down the road, the archers will take care of with a second round. By the time they realize they've been drawn into a trap it'll be too late for them to do anything about it," finished Ned.

No one spoke for a moment and Ned worried that they'd instead opt to hide amongst the trees and battle the Dornish one on one—which would only favor the spear wielders. Ned had seen enough of close combat in confined spaces. Soon enough after the shock of his suggestion had worn out of the tent, the plan was agreed to, with the only thing left to decide being who would command the force at the crossroads. Denys volunteered immediately.

"I'll lead them," he said with an eagerness that Ned had cause to suspect.

But to everyone's surprise it was Jon who then said, "No, Denys, I'll command the force at the crossroads—and none of you will dissuade me from doing so."

Robert commanded, "All right, let's put these plans into motion before those suns start peeking through the trees."

And so they were. Ned felt a tension he had not known was there lift from his person. It would be a traditional battle, with the chaotic warfare of the Stoney Sept best left forgotten to the pages of history.


	7. Lyanna

**LYANNA**

It had all been because of a song. No matter how she thought it through the songs the singers sang were the reason that she was in this mess. Whether it was her admiration for the honor and noble deeds within them that had spurred her on to defend her father's bannerman, little Howland Reed—or the appreciation of one hauntingly sad song played at a feast that had been sung so beautifully that she'd unguardedly shed a tear or two. Songs were to blame. Mistakenly she had thought life like a song, and her the hero capable to defend the poor and downtrodden as well as find love, freedom, and happiness. But now Lyanna saw that despite the pretty words a singer sings that life is not a song.

After Harrenhal, Rhaegar had written to her in secret claiming his love and passion for her. Once again it was words which had undone her—words that sang so sweetly when she read them over and over again in her head. It had not taken much on his part she realized now, a few lines, a few promises, and she had given herself to him.

_Foolish. Foolish girl._

She had run away to avoid marriage to a man she could not love. Her first mistake was _there _in thinking that marriage had anything to do with love. She had run to avoid being locked away in some tower of Storm's End, forced to bear Robert's children and likely die without ever being spoken of again—like mother had on the babe after Benjen. And yet here she was, locked away in a tower, being forced to bear someone's child—a bastard who would have the world against him before he drew his first breath.

_The gods must surely be laughing at me._

She now realized that the problem with Robert Baratheon had never been that they were at all dissimilar. On the contrary the problem was that they were far too alike. So alike that Lyanna had been able to see and know him immediately. And now she realized knowing Robert was like staring into a distorted piece of Myrish glass-seeing all her faults put before her in an exaggerated manner that she could not ignore. Had she been born with a cock between her legs instead of without she might very well have become exactly like Robert. His adoration of her proved that he too took more stock in songs than was healthy. From all the talk of fighting he had gone on and on about, it was clear both yearned for adventure of some sort. And as loathe as she was to admit it, had she not entertained the idea of a lover in the form of Rhaegar while betrothed to Robert? Mayhaps if she had been born with a cock, she too might have grown up to think like Brandon and Robert that the supposed "weaker sex" was meant to spread their legs for her pleasures.

Ned, poor sweet deluded Ned, must have thought that their similarities would bind her and Robert closer together. But they would not have. Both she and Robert wanted to be the man in the relationship, but only one of them could be. And Robert would most certainly not play the part of the woman for her. He after all had the cock, and she would have been forced to submit in the end. And that she had not wanted.

Mayhaps that was what was so appealing about Rhaegar to begin with. He had not wooed her like a man would. He gave his love openly and freely and had played a beautiful haunting song for her, like a lady might when trying to seduce the man she secretly desired.

She should have tested Rhaegar's declarations of love. It is what any lady in a song would have done. She should have challenged him to bring her some gift and set him on some test to prove his love. But Lyanna had made yet another mistake—she had thought herself the hero of her own story, and that she had earned the love of the Prince through her own trials at Harrenhal. In her folly, she had thought herself the man and Rhaegar as the woman. And he had played the part of the woman well had he not? Enticing her love not with gifts but with a sad song. And once the woman in those songs gives her love that was the end of the song was it not? The songs never tell of what came after, of how they lived—only briefly mentioning that they had many children who would then join them on further adventures after growing up some.

As a woman in body if not spirit, she should have insisted for a secret second marriage to test Rhaegar's willingness to love her. Targaryeons had been polygamous before, why not again? Testing him, as a lady should do, would have been the smart thing. But Robert and her father had put her off of the idea of marriage so much that she had entirely given up on the institution altogether when Rhaegar had asked her to run away with him.

Instead she had imagined that she would escape with her love to some place in Essos—he would give up his crown and they would travel together, having adventures from city to city. Living on the run, where it mattered not if she were married to him, only that she was together with her love. When she asked for that, he had promised her that one day they would do such things together. But first he asked of her a child to secure his son's inheritance—so that there would be three heads of the dragon and that he could then rest easy while on their travels, having fulfilled his duty to some prophesy—and she had been so eager for the freedom of Essos that she had agreed without thinking.

_Stupid. Stupid girl._

And thus she had come here to this tower, thinking that once she had done as she'd promised that she would be free to go. Instead she was held prisoner in it not by a dragon but instead by three honorable knights. Again did the gods mock her love of songs. It might have been bearable if her captors were cruel, for then it might have been like something out of a song—they were anything but. They were unfailing kind and attentive, well except for Ser Arthur—who looked on her like some vicious beast. But even he was never unkind or dishonorable to her, but unlike the other two he did not seem to pity her. She cared not for their pity or Arthur's anger, for neither meant she was regarded more than the vessel to bring Rhaegar's bastard into this world. And being seen as that made her wolf's blood boil like none other.

When word came of Brandon and father's deaths, it had been a shock to her. In all her mad desire to get away she had never stopped to think of what she was leaving behind nor how they would react, and now they were dead because of her. She might have loathed the power her father had had over her and his insistence that she be as lady-like as could be. But he had still been her father. He had indulged her whims, held her when she was frightened, played with her when her brothers had no interest in doing so, taught her to ride a horse and had even indulged her by let her ride the rings. He had stubbornly insisted she play the part of a woman, but then mayhaps he had seen where Lyanna's thoughts of playing hero would lead her to misery before she had? He had had his faults, but he had loved her, had he not? And hearing of him gone reminded her that she had as well. Brandon's death… gods it pained her to think on it. Her eldest brother who had a winsome smile, and was everything a Stark King of old was-brave, brash, and bold. He had understood her-far more than either Ned or Benjen. He may not have always agreed with her, but he had innately and immediately knew her mind without ever having to ask. And now they were gone... some nights she could not sleep for crying. She couldn't accept that they were gone, like mother. And she'd ne'er be able to say goodbye, to tell them how she had loved them.

It was only in the light of their loss that she had realized that she wasn't playing the part of the victorious Hero of Harrenhal, but instead the ruined Lady of Winterfell, and the awful irony of her situation dawned upon her. She had tried to escape, to return to Winterfell and the two brothers she still had left—her pack—before they too were taken from her, before the Mad King's rage left them for dead. But Rhaegar had discovered her before she had gotten far, and with the help of the three Kingsguard had dragged her back to the tower where she was supposed to "fulfill her promise" as he put it. Only then would she be free to leave—and not before.

When at last it became physically evident that she was with child Rhaegar had left her—as though she held no more importance to him. He did not love her, and likely never had. He had simply said some words to bring her here to this point.

At first she had been angry at the dragonseed he'd spilt inside her. She wanted to tear it out and strangle it before it could take its first breath. But these feelings did pass as dreams of a man—a Stark looking man with not a single Targaryeon attribute to him—did enter her dreams. Sometimes he looked like Brandon, other times her father, but mostly he looked like Ned. And with these dreams Lyanna did come to hope that this man would be the child within her womb. So each night she prayed to her gods to forgive her mistakes and bless her with a son.

_Give me a son to spite Rhaegar's plans for a Visenya. _Let the warrior queen ne'er be reborn.

_Give me a son to assist me in my vengeance against Rhaegar. _The dragon that had played her like his high harp for a fool.

_Give me a son so that he may be a man. _And so her child would not have to suffer the pains of being a woman in this world… like she had.


	8. Denys II

**DENYS**

The battle had gone almost exactly as Ned had planned it—and it was as equally a slaughter as the Stoney Sept had been. The worst of all was that Lord Jon, in leading the men meant to draw the Dornish into the trap had been gravely injured with a wound to his side. Jon had reached the lines, a broken spear in his side and buried deep into him.

It should have been him—not Jon—who had led that maneuver. He was the one with no family to return home to and nothing left to lose. It would have been an honorable death, securing a better future. Damn his hide. With Jon dead, Robert and Ned had lost themselves—Robert to fury and Ned to shock. Ned was in silent shock about the entire affair, refusing to speak a word since the battle had ended. Robert… well, Robert had found an outlet for his anger when to everyone's surprise Prince Rhaegar was discovered amongst the Dornish Army.

Something snapped in Robert when Rhaegar was seen as part of the Dornish host. He had charged straight into the melee for the Dragon Prince, his Stormlords right behind him, and escalated the battle further into a bloodbath. What was left of Rhaegar when Robert's war hammer had finished with him was a bloodied pulp oozing out of his severely dented armor, red rubies having flown everywhere. The sight accompanied by Robert's characteristically horned helmet accompanied by the pitiful remains of Rhaegar when he was finished with the man sent a chill down Denys' spine. He had never thought the younger man capable of such anger. Denys now saw that his house words spoke truly as a warning as much as Ned's: "Ours is the Fury" indeed.

When the battle had finished most of the ten thousand Dornish spearmen lay dead upon the road to King's Landing, with the few remaining alive including some of the nobles who had yielded once they realized the trap they'd been lured into and been terrified by the sight of the "Demon of the Woods" brutal attack on the Dragon Prince. A small handful of common soldiers had managed to escape at the rear of the line running back down the road and managed to avoid the archers' arrows by sheer luck. Soon news of this battle would spread south to the Tyrells and Dorne it seemed.

A surprise was found quivering underneath a Dornish supply cart: Jory Cassel, who Ned had sent out a few days prior to scout along with three other riders. He had been badly beaten beyond all recognition, but he was alive. Amongst the dead of both sides included Lord Martyn Cassel, Lord Elys Waynwood, Lord Jonos Bracken, Prince Lewyn Martell, and Lord Ormond Yronwood.

That evening Denys, Robert and Ned gathered together in Robert's tent to discuss what to do next, but all they could think on was the fact that Jon was dead.

"Seven help us, what are we to do now?" Denys had asked as they sat around .

"We tear that bloody madman from the Iron Throne—limb by limb preferably," roared Robert drunkenly as he pounded his fist against the table—already well into what was his third bottle of wine.

"We need to write to Riverrun to tell Lysa," muttered Ned quietly. He seemed completely lost in some world of his own.

"And risk the Tully alliance?" bellowed Robert.

"I still remain married to Catelyn, do I not? And last I heard she was with child. My goodfather can't turn his back on our alliance with that security."

"I'd prefer not to test his loyalties. We may have defeated two Royal armies and killed Rhaegar, but there's still the damn Royal Army of Dragonstone yet to be summoned and the Tyrells to deal with. Only the Seven know what Tywin Lannister will do. And don't bloody well forget that Aerys still sits his skinny ass upon the gods damned Iron Throne. Forgive me, but I'd rather be sure that Hoster fucking Tully isn't even tempted to betray us to the Iron Throne."

"You're being paranoid," growled Ned.

This only seemed to enrage Robert further as he began, "You're damn right I'm paranoid! We're—"

Denys had heard enough, interjecting himself between Ned and Robert he said, nearly shouting, "We can't argue! We argue and we lose."

And suddenly Jon's words to him on the march here returned to Denys:_ Give up not. Fight this war to make such a world as they should have lived in._

Denys continued, Jon's words to him spurring him to speak further, "We cannot give up and argue. We'll deal with the Tyrells when they come—mayhaps we could send some sort of envoy to bring the Lannisters to our cause, the Dornish won't have any love for us, but they would be best served staying out of the rest of the war. We need to take the city now—before Dragonstone can reinforce the city. The most important thing is that we don't give up. We need to keep fighting for Jon, and then we'll rebuild the kingdoms in honor to him."

Robert seemed the most inspired by his words as he said, "You're right… _Lord _Denys."

At first Denys was confused by the honorific but then he realized something He was right… with Jon and Elbert dead, he was now Lord Denys Arryn, Lord of the Vale, Head of the Arryns of the Eyrie, and Warden of the East. Seven help him he'd never expected this—never wanted it—but now it was his.

"And you can put my mind at ease by promising to marry Lysa Tully Arryn—after a proper period of mourning, of course," finished Robert with a look that seemed to suggest it was more than just a mere suggestion. That angered Denys. He had not even seen his wife and son buried, and now he was expected to have to marry his not-even-cold dead cousin's wife?

"Robert, don't—" began Ned.

With some restraint, Denys said, "I'll consider it."

Ned looked at him with a look of shock that Denys wondered would become a permanent fixture upon his face if it appeared more often.

"Dammit, do I have to order you Denys?" asked Robert with exasperation.

"My _wife and son_ have just died, and now you ask me to marry before I have had time to grieve them?" snapped Denys. Denys wasn't intimidated by Robert—he remembered the boy that he had been when he'd arrived at the Eyrie.

"Seven Hells, I said after a proper period of mourning. Take as much time as you need Denys—but I would feel more at ease taking King's Landing knowing that there's at least a promise to preserve the alliance with the Riverlands."

"All right, I'll marry her, _after_ the war," admitted Denys and Robert gave a visible sigh of relief, who then said that the letter to Lord Tully should be drafted immediately. Ned, bless him convinced Robert that such a proposal would be inappropriate to send along with the notice of Jon's death. Denys knew that the task would then have to fall to him to write his own letter to arrive a few days after news had reached Riverrun.

_Seven help me. Forgive me Annalys… forgive me Jasper._


	9. Aerys II

**AERYS**

Rhaella screamed beneath him. He loved it when she screamed. The traitor messenger's burning had been so… intoxicating that he had to have Rhaella at least one last time before he awoke the dragon. He scratched at the sensitive skin between her thighs, she reeled in pain, he bit and gnashed at her breasts—already the dragon within him was yearning to burst forth. Her blood stained the sheets and fueled him more. Fire and Blood—they were more than just his House words, they were what gave him life.

He was to release the dragon within him, like his ancestors of old Valyria, and then he would rain down fire and blood upon that treacherous fawn and his lapdog. But he would not be alone in this endeavor—no. The dragon must have three heads after all, and he, Viserys, and Aegon would all awake the dragons within themselves this night.

Aerys could not wait to see the pitiful rebels run like ants beneath him.

Rhaella had fallen unconscious by this point—he always hated when she went lifeless like this—he needed to hear her scream. No amount of biting or scratching would wake her from this state—and he wasn't even spent this time.

_Damn her! She has always ruined my fun._

Aerys readjusted himself and put his clothes on so he could go and meet his future dragons to be in his private chambers as he had requested the Kingsguard to bring them to him.

Outside of his chambers Jonothor Darry and the lion cub stood guard. He found young Aegon being burped by the wet nurse inside, and a rather bored and obviously tired Viserys was playing with a wooden dragon that Rhaella had made for him. Soon he would be a dragon all his own, and the need for such wooden props would cease. Aerys dismissed the wet nurse when she had finished burping the mewing infant.

"Are you sure you want to be left alone with the little Prince, your grace? I mean he gets a little fussy after—"

"What part of leave don't you understand, woman?" spewed Aerys.

And with that, the wet nurse left as he had commanded. Once she had, Aerys went to his desk where he had put the box containing the vials of wildfire he'd requested from Lord Rossart.

"Why are Aegon and I here father?" asked Viserys as he leaned against the front of his desk, watching him pull out the black dragonglass box with rubies encrusted in it in the shape of his house sigil.

Aerys flipped open the lid to the box and the green of the three wildfire vials shown forth, illuminating his and Viserys' faces. On the other side of the desk Aegon gurgled. It was then then that Aerys looked at his son and grandson and said, "It's time to wake the dragons."

Viserys contorted his face in confusion, "How do we wake the dragons? They're all just old skulls."

Aerys picked up Aegon, and holding him with one arm, admiring the proud Targaryeon features of his grandson for one last time—soon he would be in an even more noble form as a dragon. He then answered Viserys, saying, "Not those dragons of old, Viserys—the dragons inside us, that claw and yearn to stretch their wings free from this pitiful shell we wear."

Viserys looked at Aerys with confusion—no matter, he would understand soon enough. Aerys then pulled out one vial and handed it to Viserys, who took it still staring at it in wonder.

Aerys cautioned, "Careful… now when I tell you to, I want you to open the vial… and drink it all. I'll help your nephew to drink his."

Viserys continued to look on in awe at the vial in his hand as the liquid green fire moved wildly within it vial-as though it were alive. Aerys smiled… soon the dragon would have three heads.


	10. Jaime

**JAIME**

The first hint that something was wrong came when Jaime heard screams from within Aerys' chamber, followed quickly by the babe's wails. His wife was one matter, but now his son and grandson? This was too much. This was hardly honorable. How could a King be so vicious? He wanted to go inside and put a stop to things once and for all, but Ser Darry blocked his way.

"We have to protect the royal family, don't we?"

Ser Darry gave Jaime a sad look before "Not from him. We protect the King first and foremost, never forget that Lannister."

"But there's a future King in that room!" insisted Jaime. At this Ser Darry seemed conflicted. It was only a moment later when Aerys' mad wailings that were a mixture between laughter and screams joined the chorus from the children that Ser Darry moved aside and Jaime opened the door to a horrible sight.

There before him stood three green glowing forms being consumed by green wildfire. The wildfire came oozing from their mouths, dribbling down their chins and onto their clothes and setting their entire bodies aflame. The children had already fallen to the floor and were quickly being burnt beyond recognition as their final screams were heard—the green fire then continued to spread across their bodies, burning away—the worst came from the swelling of their bodies which then exploded in a bloody mess of blood and green flames. Pieces of the young princes flying everywhere, one in particular flew rather close to them, breaking Jaime's entrancement as he backed away from the flaming piece of flesh that oozed and burned rather too close for comfort near him.

By this point the King himself had fallen forward onto his desk, the wildfire spreading and catching it on fire. Jaime had heard tale of wildfire and its insatiable appetite to burn.

Aerys' body burst at this moment a piece of flaming wildfire flesh hitting Ser Darry squarely in his face—his hair catching fire. Jaime scrambled back away from the other knight as he began to scream and catch fire himself. From inside of the King's solar Jaime saw a larger green glow cast out into the hall. Jaime wished he could help his Kingsguard brother—but it was too late—the wildfire could only get on him if he attempted to do anything. He was helpless… all he could do was run.

_Seven Hells! The wildfire is spreading—it will continue to spread to how large—the Seven only know!_ _We have to get out of the Red Keep! The Queen and the Princesses!_

Jaime ran for the Queen's compartments, Jaime knew what Rhaella would be like after having visited Aerys—the practice was not new between the King and his sister wife—but that did not stop Jaime from taking a moment to feel an utter loathing for the man. He had deserved his fate. When he arrived at the Queen's compartments he found it guarded by Ser Barristan—his senior in the Kingsguard who looked tired and weary.

"Ser Jaime, what troubles you so?" asked the elder knight, concerned at the exhausted manner Jaime appeared in having run a good length of the castle to reach here in his armor.

"The King and princes… have swallowed wildfire! We need to get… the Queen and princesses to safety!" shouted Jaime while catching his breath.

Ser Barristan stared almost blankly at Jaime, dumbfounded, as though he knew not what to do. This was too much, Jaime expected for Ser Barristan the Bold—the man he'd admired and led him to desire to join the Kingsguard—to know what to do and take charge of the situation. But here in this moment Ser Barristan seemed as confused and shocked as his brother Tyrion had the day he'd learned that his father did not care for him like he did for his other children. It killed Jaime to see the legend humbled, but there was little time to dwell on this, as something had to be done.

"Perhaps you should take care of her grace, Ser Barristan, while I go to the Maiden's Vault and retrieve the Princesses?" suggested Jaime in the form of a question. At this Ser Barristan seemed to gain a hold of himself and nodded, dismissing Jaime—at once he was Ser Barristan the Bold… but Jaime would ne'er forget the moment when he hadn't been.

The Red Keep was in total disarray as news from the servants about the wildfire sent the castle into a panic. Doors were heard opening and slamming shut, the dull thundering of footsteps going wild. Jaime had to get to the Maiden's Vault—the Princesses had been locked inside ever since Aerys had taken young Aegon away from Elia. He had failed Aegon and Viserys—Seven help him. But he would not fail Elia and Rhaenys!


	11. Elia

**ELIA**

It was lonely in the Maidenvault, Rhaenys, though she were a sweet child and she loved her dearly, she was not much for company. E'er since Aegon had been taken from her Elia ached to have him once again in her arms. It felt almost as if he had died—though she knew it ridiculous to think of it in that way. She missed his little hiccups, his dimpled little chin, and the slight speckles of black amongst his loving violet eyes. She imagined a million times a day she heard his joyful laughter, and ear-shattering screams that she could only tell what he meant by them—for they knew a language that held more meaning than the spoken word.

She had fallen asleep amongst a pile of pillows—Rhaenys curled up next to her when she awoke to the sound of screaming somewhere far off. And it wasn't just any screaming—she knew it was Aegon's. Somewhere in the Red Keep he was being hurt—she knew it. But no one else seemed to hear them—Rhaenys, ever the light sleeper, continued to sleep soundly. She had dismissed it at the time to the remnants of a horrible dream.

It wasn't until Ser Jaime Lannister came that Elia knew she dreamed not.

_Aegon… my babe… damn the king to the deepest of all the Seven Hells! May he be chained and know the agony like he has given me now!_

It wasn't until she saw Ser Jaime staring at her and heard Rhaenys ask her what was wrong that Elia realized she had actually said that aloud.

"We must be going, now!" urged

"Where are we going?"

"Out of the Red Keep—away from the wildfire!" insisted Ser Jaime.

"And where in the city shall we go?" wondered Elia.

It was then that a fat figure stepped out from behind a folding screen: Aerys' Eunuch.

"Out of the Red keep and to a ship waiting in the harbor to take you, the Queen, and Princess Rhaenys to Dragonstone," said the bald man gently.

"How did you get in here?!" demanded Ser Jaime, putting himself between the Eunuch and her and Rhaenys.

"There is in this corner a secret passage that leads down to other tunnels and eventually out of the keep. The Red Keep is full of such passages and pathways and my little birds have found many. Come, my dear, we have little time."

Something was wrong here—the Eunuch wanted them out of the city too much and appeared too conveniently. "Fleeing the Red Keep I understand, but the city itself?" asked Elia.

"My Princess, the King, his son, and yours are dead. The rebels have defeated the Army of King's Landing and the Army of Dorne. They have also fought and killed your husband. Tomorrow they shall be at the gates to the city. Do you truly wish to stay and see if the new conquerors of Westeros shall show you mercy?" asked Varys

Rhaegar was dead? Seven help her. She had prayed to the Stranger to take him—the moment she had heard he'd run off with that she-wolf… but now… to think that her prayers had been answered. Seven help her she hadn't meant for this to happen. Was this all her fault? All her prayers and nightmares were to be answered? The Seven-who-are-One is cruel indeed.

A scream was heard not far from outside the doors to the Maidenvault.

"We have not the time to argue this any further, I must insist that you come, my Princess," urged Lord Varys.

It felt wrong trusting the man that Aerys in his paranoia had put so much faith in, but what other choice was there? Robert Baratheon would be knocking at the gate come morning, and when word of Aerys', Viserys, and Aegon's deaths left the Red Keep…only the Seven knew what would happen. Would the Gold cloaks listen to her and the Queen? Not likely. Elia remembered how the guards had dragged her here without a second thought and realized she did not want to test the loyalty of these men, nor did she care to find out. It made sense to leave now—before the stag beat down the door. Leave while confusion reigned o'er the keep. She grabbed a cloak for herself and Rhaenys, and with that, she, Rhaenys, and Ser Jaime followed Lord Varys through a passage hidden behind a false wall panel and began their descent into darkness.

Rhaenys, still tired had to be carried by Ser Jaime so that Elia could keep up with their pace—she had not walked this fast in all her life and the strain did much to make her lose her breath—but still she pushed on, taking moments when she could to breath deeper and fuller.

They arrived at the harbor as Lord Varys had promised and boarded a ship—_The Dragon's Fang_—where Ser Barristan had already brought the unconscious Queen. Along with them were a few servants and a few knights—most notably Ser Willem Darry. His brother, Ser Jonothor was missing, but they waited for him not as the ship set sail not long after they had boarded and settled in.

The trip to Dragonstone would be short, but it still required for Elia to find some rest and when she closed her eyes she saw her Aegon… her sweet babe engulfed in flames and heard the scream from that night. So the second night at sea, Elia walked the decks, trying to find some amount of solace, but all she found was the Eunuch.

"Trouble sleeping, my Princess?" he asked silkily as he joined her looking out onto the waters of Blackwater Bay.

"Do you have a penchant for asking the obvious, or are you truly curious?" asked Elia, her emotions still raw with the image of her darling son burning.

"Have I offended you?" asked Lord Varys, emoting as though he were actually hurt by her thoughtless lashing.

Elia reminded herself that it would do no good to air her suspicions here, not when she was indebted to him for her rescue. In fact it might benefit her more to reply with a different answer, "No, Lord Varys, my thoughts trouble me and make me irritable."

"Thoughts of your young son?" asked the Eunuch.

Elia wanted to spit at him. What right had he to speak of her babe? But she held her tongue.

"My Princess, I have some news which will greatly interest you concerning the whereabouts of your son. I had wanted to save this news for Dragonstone—but if it will help you sleep…" offered Varys.

_Seven damn the eunuch. _

"My son is dead in the Red Keep, what more is there to know?" asked Elia as diplomatically as she could.

"But that's just it, he is not, my princess. You do recall when young Brandon Stark came to… challenge your husband to a duel, do you not?" asked Varys.

_Where was he going with this? _

Elia answered, "Aye."

He then fed her the next juiciest bit of information, dangling it before her like he might a piece of string in front of cat—eager to see her take a swipe at I without thinking. He continued, "And how when he was first brought before the King he made that telling remark about Lady Dayne's increased fullness of her figure?"

Gods, the only thing she'd laughed at that entire day, only to be replaced with complete horror as Ashara had broken down crying.

Still, why would she need be reminded of all this? "I know the story, Lord Varys, as I arranged to send her out of the city myself after the Starks were murdered. I fail to see how it pertains to my son!"

"You did arrange for her to leave, but she left not alone. She left with a babe in her arms—your son, Aegon," confided Lord Varys.

Aegon? He could still be alive? Wait, no. No. This was not possible. He was dead. She knew not how she knew, but she could feel it to her core. Aegon was dead. Then her thoughts continued to turn over this. She had held Aegon in her arms as often as she could in the time since he was born—she knew him well. She knew him by his dimpled chin, his eyes, and his laugh. The babe that had been in her arms three days ago she knew in her bones she had given birth to. But then, why would Lord Varys tell her all this? Was he hoping that in her grief she would latch on to the first babe that he promised was her son—risen from the dead? And how had Varys known then though that there would be a rebellion. In those days it was simply a small argument between House Targaryen and House Stark—war had not come yet…

There was something wrong, not just with his story, and she would discover what they were. Had he planned all along for the rebels to win? Was he in a secret alliance with them? She would need to find out. She could pull a mummer's farce as well as the next man. And one day, Varys would regret ever taunting her with the false promise of Aegon's life.

But in the meantime, she would go along with it, publicly at least, "My son… alive?"

"Aye, my lady," answered Lord Varys with a sickeningly sweet smile, as though happy to have finally ensnared her in his web… like a spider. Only he did not realize that it was he who was the fly.


	12. Eddard II

**EDDARD**

The smoke from the Red Keep could be seen for miles—it appeared not to be completely destroyed, but part of it looked damaged enough that it made the rebels wonder what had occurred there. Was Aerys planning some kind of weapon to use against them that had accidentally gotten out of control? He was known to be fond of Wildfire—and wildfire could explain why that part of the Red Keep looked so horribly damaged while the rest of the structure remained intact.

They reached the River Gate—or the Mud Gate as the smallfolk referred to it—to find that at the gate waited Lord Manly Stokeworth in the uniform of his office as the leader of the City Watch—or gold cloaks. He waited on the shores of the Blackwater River, with several of his officers and armed men, bearing the white flag of peace and negotiations. Lord Stokeworth was an older man, with gray already well mixed in his longer hair of brown. He was a rather plain looking man, but with one feature of note: a very round nose that looked almost as though it had no point. Once Robert, Denys, and Eddard—along with guards of their own reached the shores of the Blackwater an extraordinary thing occurred—Manly Stokeworth dropped to one knee in front of Robert—as did his surrounding gold cloaks.

"The King is dead," began Lord Stokeworth while upon his knee.

Shouts of "Long Live the King," followed.

_Aerys is dead? Gods, is there to be no justice for father or Brandon?_

Robert accepted their allegiance and this news from horseback, with as much shock and bluster as he had ever had: "Seven Hells! The bastard's truly dead? Oh get up off your bloody knees already."

Lord Stokeworth and his gold cloaks rose from their knees, per their new king's request. "My men found his and the two princes' charred remains ourselves, your grace," replied Lord Stokeworth.

"And the women?" asked Ned.

Lord Stokeworth and his men eyed Ned oddly when he spoke. Ned knew not what to think of this.

"Missing, Lord Stark," answered Lord Stokeworth.

_Fled to Dragonstone is more like it._

"My sister with them?" asked Ned

Once again the gold cloaks did look at Ned with that odd look.

"I am sorry to report that I have never had the opportunity to become… acquainted with the Lady Lyanna," answered Lord Stokeworth cautiously.

_Lya isn't here? Gods… had she ever been? Mayhaps though there were a hint in the parts of the Red Keep as to where she was. Or mayhaps she had been kept hidden from everyone. Yes. That had to be it._

Ned was silent the rest of the way as they entered the city. All along his path he could not help but notice smallfolk gave proper respect to Robert—as two of Lord Stokeworth's guards had run ahead to announce the arrival of the new King. However whene'er Ned himself looked upon the smallfolk, many averted their eyes—as though afraid to look him in the eyes.

As they drew closer to the Red Keep, Ned saw that only one small section of the Keep was destroyed and left smoldering, the part which Robert called Maegor's Holdfast—as it appeared to Ned it was a castle within a castle and the place where the King's private compartments were located.

Upon reaching the Red Keep, Ned's first instinct was to search the dungeons. It was in the third level where the "Black Cells" were—that to his surprise he was reunited with a still living Ethan Glover, the young man who had been Brandon's squire and friend.

"Ned? Gods! Is this a dream, or are you truly here?" asked Ethan, as he shied away from the light of Ned's torch. Ethan looked terrible, as though he had been thrown into the dungeons to rot and been forgotten. His usually clean-shaven face was covered in the untrimmed beginnings of a red beard. His clothes were soiled and wearing thin, and he looked unusually thinner than Ned last recalled seeing him at Harrenhal when he had had a bucket of water spilt over him by Brandon to wake him up from having drunk far too much at the feast.

"Ethan! No, you dream not!" urged Ned, surprised and gracious to see a friendly face. Rumors had said that Brandon's party had all been killed, but here was living proof that those rumors had been wrong. Were the others of Brandon's party yet living? Kyle Royce, Jeffory Mallister, and Elbert Arryn… Elbert would be Lord of the Vale if he yet lived, much to Denys' relief most likely.

"I suppose it must be Lord Stark now, though…" commented Ethan bitterly, his disheveled long red hair falling down in front of his face.

"Aye," answered Ned, and once again he felt the pain of having lost his father and Brandon.

Ethan was silent at this, and Ned knew what he was like to think—that it should be Brandon here instead of him, and Ned could not help but agree. Much to Ned's surprise, Ethan then knelt before Ned.

"I served your brother well as a squire, Lord Stark, and I will serve you equally as well," spoke Ethan.

_Gods am I to inherit everything that had been Brandon's?  
><em>  
>"I have no need for a squire, Ethan, and you are old enough now to retire from the position and take up arms in your own right. If you so desire it I shall have you knighted as a barrowknight, as… Brandon would have done," answered Ned, choking up as he spoke his late brother's name.<p>

"You do me a great honor in offering so much, but I fear I have little noble deeds to my name to warrant a knighthood—even a barrowknighthood. I shall be content to simply be a warrior in service to you and your House, my lord."

_And in honor of Brandon._ Even beyond the grave his late brother had the power to move men.

"Come, let us get you a clean shirt and breeches," urged Ned, and he helped Ethan to rise and they

None of the others of Brandon's party were left alive. All had been killed except for Ethan—he apparently had been left alive either due to the fact he had only been a squire, or because the Mad King had forgotten about him. Either had likely saved his life. Ethan confirmed that Lyanna had not been in King's Landing when they had arrived, instead saying that both she and the Prince had been missing.

That meant only one thing—that the Prince had not ridden out to meet the Dornish Army, but had arrived with them. Lyanna was still held further south, most likely in Dorne, but where in Dorne? Ned knew of only one person in all of Dorne who would likely tell him the truth—if she knew at all—but with the way they had parted from Harrenhal—the embarrassment of the memory drew upon him and made him blush once more, how much of a green boy he'd been then—would she help him? But Ned soon realized that she was the only person he could contact, and with time being of the essence before Mace Tyrell or Tywin Lannister decided that they might wish to marry their own sons to the still-living Rhaenys, he would have to be quick about sending his missive. He would write immediately to Ashara, and if she could not help him, the gods only knew how he would find Lya.

He composed and sent his letter immediately after seeing that Ethan was taken to receive bath and a fresh pair of clothes by the few remaining servants who had stayed in the Keep.

Over the next few days, as Ned awaited his response from Ashara, stock was taken of the city, and Robert was crowned in the Sept of Balor. After this ceremony, Ned was invited to join Robert, Denys, and Lord Stokeworth in the Small Council's chamber. Upon his arrival Robert pulled him aside and asked him to be his Hand.

Ned was firm in his decision, "It is an honor, your grace, but I fear I must refuse."

"What is this, Ned?" asked Robert.

"How can I be your Hand and search for Lyanna?" asked Ned

Robert seemed conflicted upon the mention of this, finally managing to say, "Sometimes Ned, we must put aside our personal desires to do what is best for the realm."

Ned countered, "Which is why I tell you now that I cannot be your Hand! I have responsibilities to the North which after I have found Lya I must fulfill. You're our anointed King now, Robert, and you must rule. And you must deal with the Queen dowager and the Princesses on Dragonstone."

"That's why I need a bloody Hand, so he can look after the city while I chase down those dragons!" growled Robert.

And then an idea struck Ned.

"Why not make my goodfather your Hand?" asked Ned.

Robert nearly burst into laughter, "Are you daft, Ned?"

"You have not sent the raven out to Riverrun yet, have you?" After having composed the letter informing Hoster and Lysa of Jon's death they had had the misfortune to find that in the battle the maester's ravens had been let loose on accident—all of them having flown to their trained destinations without a single one trained for Riverrun left. They had had to wait on the letter until they took King's Landing, and likely in all the commotion Robert had forgotten to send the letter he hoped.

Robert shook his head, answering his question, and confirming Ned's suspicions.

"Think of it, Robert. I cannot be your Hand as I shall be needed in the North far too much to be an effective Hand to you—especially if the wildlings gather and push against the wall as they like to do every so many years. If Brandon had lived I would have gladly taken your position as Hand, but unfortunately I am needed elsewhere. You said you had doubts that Lord Tully would keep his allegiance if he heard of Jon's death, well what could more satiate that fear of yours than the offer of being Hand of the King in addition to that betrothal you've forced upon poor Denys? Not that there should be any worry left to that fear now, your grace."

"Gods… you're right, Ned. But I will still want you on my small council in some capacity. We've fought this war together, we've lost just as much together, we ought to rule together," blustered Robert.

Ned groaned—he knew once Robert had made his mind up on something that there was no changing it. It was best to just agree now and hammer out any details later, after Lya was found.

"Give me any position you like that gives me leave to only travel here once or twice a year, and I will take it," grumbled Ned. He would agree to this for now, if only to keep from delaying matters further. He had to ready himself and his party to find Lya. Later, when Lya was safe and the war ended, he would take the matter up again with Robert.

"Good, then as Commander of Arms and Men, my first task I ask of you is to ride to Storm's End and relieve the siege there and to find my future queen," suggested Robert with an odd smile.

"Commander of Arms and Men?" asked Ned, that was not a position traditional of the seven spots of the Small Council.

Robert grinned, and Ned could tell he was making up the position on the spot, but Ned cared not—he would not be Hand, "A new position for a new dynasty. You've proven yourself a commendable leader of men in battle and strategist, have you not, Ned? I'd have you in times of war in charge of gathering and organizing our armies, securing supply lines, etc. In times of peace you would ensure the training of men and knights across the realm, so that all men are capable of fighting should the need arise. I of course will still be leading these armies in battle, but you would be in charge of the strategy of these battles. Come now, don't give me that face, Ned. You must admit you're so overqualified for the position, that you won't be needed in King's Landing more than once or twice a year. Why I've heard some of the gold cloaks call you 'the bloody wolf'."

_The Bloody Wolf?!_ At Harrenhal he'd heard whispers of him being called the Quiet Wolf, but now only after two battles he had been given such a name as that?! But then Ned thought to the carnage of both Stoney Sept and the Kingswood. Gods, he was a bloody wolf, and that was why they avoided him so. And if King's Landing had heard of this, the news would only spread from here. By the time he reached Dorne they would likely have heard of his new won reputation. He would need more than simply a small party of select men if he intended to ride any further south.

"I accept, your grace," said Ned in a stunned manner.

Robert then began speaking with him and Denys about his plans to siege Dragonstone and capture the last dragons.

Ned cautioned him to try treating first with them, offering them security at court—he did not want to have any more bloodshed on his hands.

Denys suggested going further and perhaps offering the seat of Dragonstone to young Rhaenys as her birthright and separating it from administering the Crownlands entirely, making her instead simply the Lady of the Narrow Sea and giving the few houses from the islands as her bannermen.

Ned agreed with Denys, adding, "Offer the child, the Princess, and the Queen protection and further war with Dorne could be spared."

_And Lyanna will likely be safe until I reach her_.

Ned himself would treat with Lord Tyrell, so that more bloodshed could be avoided.

Robert seemed to dislike these plans—saying that after what Aerys did all dragons deserved was death, but Denys and Ned advised him that the crown was his by inheritance as well as by conquest—being the next legitimate male heir of the Targaryens through his grandmother's blood. His claim would only further stabilize his throne if he were to take the last living relatives of the last dynasty into his own household and under his own protection—mayhaps even arranging that his own heir should marry Rhaenys when he would be born.

"Are you sure you refuse to be my Hand, Ned? You've already counseled me much as a Hand would," mumbled Robert after they had finally managed to convince him to agree to be good to Rhaella, Elia, and Rhaenys.

Only in the place of my goodfather, and as Denys will I am sure when I travel to meet with Lord Tyrell," countered Ned. The sun, which had been high in the sky when they had gathered to meet, was now close to setting and the evening meal was soon to begin.

Later that evening the letter for which he had been waiting arrived. In it there contained but a few brief lines—as though it had been written in haste and secret. Ashara congratulated him on his marriage to Catelyn and wished them much joy in their future together and expressed her regrets at the loss of Brandon and his father and in their memory and in honor of the night that they themselves had shared together she did tell him of what she had heard regarding Lyanna's whereabouts from her brother who was part of a group of three Kingsguard keeping watch over her at the Tower of Joy, just north of Starfell.

In the morning Ned set out down the Kingsroad with all his Northern men. He would treat first with Lord Tyrell, ending the siege and then ride with twenty men or so for the Tower of Joy.


	13. Barristan

**BARRISTAN**

After installing themselves in Dragonstone and calling for the minor houses of the narrow sea to come gather for their own protection—though they would at earliest arrive in a few weeks' time—Barristan took stock of their position. Rumors of Rhaegar's brutal murder upon the battlefield were confirmed by the Spider, and Barritan then knew that all the male heirs of the Targaryen dynasty were dead. This left Robert the rebel the rightful king by inheritance as well as through conquest.

That is until Lord Varys had shared with them his story of how he had secured the life of young Prince Aegon. _He is alive in Starfall!_ If they could reach the castle in time, they would be able to bring him by ship back to Dragonstone and then relocate the family to Essos, where they could train the young Prince until he was of age to take back his rightful throne from the rebel stag.

The Queen and the Princess however held different ideas when they spoke in quiet conference. They had taken the their two remaining Kingsguard and Ser Willem to a secret room deep beneath the castle where they suspected to be out of earshot of any spies.

When their tale and suspicions had been finished being told, Ser Barristan was left in shock, as was Ser Willem—the only one to express the shock that was felt was of course the youngest member of the Kingsguard.

"What do you mean that the babe cannot possibly be Aegon? How can you be sure without ever having seen the babe?" demanded Ser Jaime—nearly shouting as he did.

"A mother knows her child, and I can guarantee that the babe I had up until the late King took him from my arms was the son I gave birth to. He had to be that or Varys found such a perfect twin down to only the tiny details a mother would notice."

"Why would Lord Varys want to pass off another child as the young prince?" asked Ser Willem with marked caution—the wheels of his mind obviously turning.

"I know not, but likely for his own purposes which are likely impossible to know. He comes from Essos, he should have little thoughts towards the Iron Throne," muttered Elia with some exasperation.

"And yet he seems to have taken a particular interest," reminded Barristan.

"My lady, have you considered that the tale of this babe in Starfall might be a ruse to separate us from your protection? All this time he might have been working for the Stag—isn't it mighty convenient that everything has so easily lined up for Robert's succession to be legitimate."

"Oh, I doubt not that Varys indeed has a babe hidden with Lady Ashara and that he has told her that it is Aegon—and being not a mother herself… yet… she was easily taken in by the deception. I simply doubt that it is my son. As for how things have turned out for the King… who among us could have foreseen how the late King would have responded to the news from Stoney Sept?"

"That bloody demon, King?" scoffed Jaime.

"He is the rightful King now—as much as we all hate to admit it. By all the laws of inheritance as written since the days of the Dance, the Demon of the Woods is lawful King," spoke the Queen, still quite weak from her recovery, but she spoke with an authority that Ser Barristan had not seen in her for many years—not since before her unfortunate marriage to Aerys.

Elia added, "And raising a pretender babe in the name of my son would be nothing but an exercise in pure folly, not to mention a desecration to my son's true name."

The Queen continued, saying, "The Princess and I are tired of war and death, good Sers, and would have peace if we can manage it. The Stag has won his crown—let him keep it. It has brought nothing but trouble to me and my family."

"Then we should not go to Starfall?" asked Ser Jaime, looking quite confused as to what they would bid them do. Barristan felt much the same as the youth, though he did his best to hide it behind the cool exterior of solemnity.

"No, now more than ever Ser Barristan and Ser Darry must go to Starfall and get the babe that Lord Varys would have everyone think is my grandson," concluded the Queen, she shared a look with Elia that only the two seemed to understand after saying as much.

"Am I not to go?" asked Ser Jaime.

"You were the one who showed concern for our lives with the Eunuch around, why not put that concern to good use in ensuring us our lives, good Ser," finished the Queen.

"Ser Barristan, Ser Willem, if we nip this plot in the bud then peace will likely continue to reign long after we dip our banners to the King when he inevitably comes," elaborated Elia.

Ser Barristan did not know what to believe about the babe—though he did agree with the Princess now that he had a moment to think on it that seemed rather odd that at such an early date that the Prince's life would be considered in such danger that a switch of such proportions would be made. Outright war had not yet broken out—why would the Master of Whispers see fit to send the second in line to the throne away in such a manner when little threat as of yet existed?

And besides, going to Starfall would give him opportunity to see the Lady Ashara once again. If only he had won that tournament and crowned her—then this entire war could have been prevented.


	14. Tywin II

**TYWIN**

His gathering army had finally collected itself at Deep Den, prepared on a moment's notice of hearing the combined Tyrells marching north to hurry east on the Gold Road and come in and save Robert Baratheon and his Northern alliance, thus securing his own spot in the future council to come. But just as the forces from the Crag had finally arrived, news from King's Landing reached Tywin's ears of the defeat of the Army of Dorne by the "Bloody Wolf", the death of Prince Rhaegar at the hands of the "Demon of the Woods", the deaths of Aerys, Viserys, and young Prince Aegon in an incident that recalled Aerion Brightflame's demise in Essos, and the crowning of King Robert Baratheon, the first of his name by the abandoned people of King's Landing. Before he had marched, the rebellion was all but finished, with Robert now not only King by conquest but thanks to the actions of Aerys, the legitimate heir to the throne as well.

This put Tywin in a position he had never taken as a possibility: that he would be too late. Now the task of crowning Cersei would be nigh impossible. Seven damn Aerys to the deepest of all the Seven Hells for ruining my plans!

There was but one thing to do now, ride and swear fealty to this "Demon of the Woods" as he was being called. Mayhaps he'd find something to take advantage of—he could offer his services as Hand to the King. He had proven himself a capable Hand to Aerys had he not—before he went mad of course. It would secure prestige and power for his family once again, and as Hand of the King he perhaps could advise the King to set aside the likely ruined Stark girl and consider Cersei as a bride.

He arrived at the Lion Gate with his six chosen companions: Armory Lorch, Gregor Clegane, Roland Crakehall, Tybolt Hetherspoon, Harys Swyft, and his brother Kevan. He had left his army encamped at Deep Den—ready, in case they should indeed still be needed. They were permitted to enter the city and at once Tywin saw the still smoldering smoke coming from the Red Keep—which from a distance looked to be well intact except for Maegor's Holdfast.

He met with Lord Tully—the Hand of the King, Lord Denys Arryn—the Master of Laws, and the King to whom he swore his fealty, which was rewarded with an offer to become Master of Coin—added with a comment of how Lannisters in the past had proven themselves more than worthy and capable at the position. Tywin politely asked for some time to think on the offer. Truthfully Tywin had never felt so insulted in all his life. But he held back his feelings of resentment from showing—he had yet to do anything for this new King, he could not expect to be immediately given the golden ring he so deserved, not when he had missed his opportunity and sat out the war as a neutral party. And mayhaps Lord Tully would not live long.

He inquired as to his son's whereabouts and to his surprise found that he had fled with the Targaryen women to Dragonstone. Ah, Dragonstone—there still was a battle yet to fight—and it was there he could prove his loyalty. The only problem was that there weren't any ships in King's Landing to go to Dragonstone with his army. No matter, he could send his army to Lannisport, and in a few months' time they could be storming Dragonstone for the King.

But the most interesting bit of information came not from his discussion with the King and his small council, but instead from a rumor Lorch had heard while bedding a servant—that Lord Stark was set to travel to the Red Mountains of Dorne, having requested maps of the region before leaving to end Storm's End.

What was in the Red Mountains of Dorne? The place was a desolate region, hardly populated by any but the few noble Houses of stony Dornishmen that carved out a life amongst the red crags. However when Tywin continued to give the matter some thought he eventually came to the conclusion that Stark must have good reason to think his missing sister—and the betrothed of the King—was hidden away in the red mountains of Dorne. Looking at some of the maps of Western Dorne Tywin took note of the mention of abandoned keeps that were in the region: The Tower of Joy and the Vulture's Roost being the most recently abandoned it seemed comparing maps from different monarch's rule, and thus the most likely places for Rhaegar to have hidden the she-wolf, that is if the dragon prince had hidden her in the Red Mountains to begin with.

Best to be safe than sorry, Tywin called for Clegane and Lorch and commanded them to ride south into Dorne and check the Vulture's Roost and the Tower of Joy to see if they could find any she-wolves that needed to be taken care of before they sunk their teeth in too deeply into the Stag.

"You must not go in Lannister colors, nor your own family sigils. I would not have this tied back to my family or the Westerlands in any way," commanded Tywin.

"How do you want us to travel then, just in our fucking armor?" asked Lorch

"I'm not asking for much," said Tywin dryly.

Clegane asked as he bit into an apple, "And if she's not in either place?"

Tywin knew what he wanted from them immediately, "Then return to King's Landing with all speed. I'll have need of you on Dragonstone."

Tywin would take that position as Master of Coin—it wasn't Hand of the King, but he could most certainly take that position in time. His hesitancy to act had cost his family much—he would not make the same mistake twice. Lannister blood would rule one day over all the Seven Kingdoms—as was only right.


	15. Catelyn

**CATELYN**

Although the rumors had arrived in Riverrun before they had left for the capital, Catelyn had not given them much thought. After all to hear that a battle was "mercilessly fought" with "nary a soul to survive" was common enough. She'd heard as much after Ashford, and yet Robert had somehow managed to rise from the dead and give battle at Stoney Sept. But to now be within less than a day's ride of what was the most recent battlefield—where the King's Road and immediate environs were nearly dyed red with blood—Catelyn began to wonder if the rumors she had heard while safely ensconced away in Riverrun had been telling less than the complete truth. The stench of burnt rotting bodies permeated the air still—as more bodies were still being found amongst the overgrowth surrounding the woods, even now after several weeks had passed since the battle. Catelyn supposed it could have been worse, the capital could have been sieged and the blood dye and stench of rotten flesh could have permeated its streets instead. Instead they simple stank of unwashed bodies in too close a proximity together. Which when compared to that of burnt rotting flesh smelled rather sweet, to be honest.

But now, seeing and smelling the aftermath of the latest battle, Catelyn would have to accept what she had so easily dismissed in Riverrun: she had married "the Bloody Wolf" whose rage and grief at the loss of his family and foster father was so great that he would level the entirety of the six other kingdoms if he could not find his missing sister she-wolf. Or at least so was whispered amongst the servants and smallfolk. Such brutality was so unheard of that some thought that the old gods as practiced in the North must involve blood sacrifices to their weirwood gods in recompense for actions committed on earth.

To Catelyn such talk ran contrary to the quiet, polite, and nearly shy man she recalled having to nearly give permission to take what was already his in the sight of the Seven. During their brief courtship he had kept a nearly cold and respectable distance, far colder than his hot-blooded elder brother had had with her—though she had been nothing but a lady with him, of that she had been quite insistent. But with her lord husband, she had had to be the pursuer on the wedding night as he had awkwardly and nervously been coaxed into doing the deed. He had admitted to her outright that he had only "done this once before" and apologized quite frequently for any deficiency on his part to her pleasure. Had she simply given up after the first round she would have thought that she was destined to have naught but a lonely bed in the North. But after having taken her maidenhood, she desired to see if the experience might afford some pleasure as she had heard Brandon speak of when he had spoke quite naughtily to her when they had had their few brief moments alone during their courtship. And besides how could she bear her lord an heir if she had not released her own seed as the maesters spoke of being necessary? Needless to say, the first and even the second time they had managed to stumble through the motions, but the third… well the third time had given promise that such unions could hold some amount of pleasure, and obviously had done the trick as she now was with child and beginning to show it quite well.

Could such a man as that then go on to coldly and ruthlessly slaughter to the point where the land around the Stoney Sept had become a large lichfield and the trees of the King's Wood were painted red with blood? Catelyn could not comprehend them being the same man, not at all, and yet the evidence spoke loudly to the contrary. What was undeniable was the carnage still left behind and for the moment she prayed that the young life growing inside of her would not be as… driven if war should come in his time. She was sure it would be a boy. She knew not how she knew, but she knew it would. She had been praying of course to the Mother and the old gods to grant her a son just like her lord husband—as she thought would please him. But now she did not mind if the little life inside of her was not completely like Lord Stark—Eddard. She must remember to think of him as Eddard.

Catelyn was joined in her devotions by her sister who prayed to the Stranger not out of any true remorse for the loss of her husband but with a mixture of gratitude and brow beating from Catelyn herself. Frequently when alone in her sister's presence Catelyn found herself having to remind and scold Lysa as though she had not yet blossomed as a woman grown yet—though that of course had occurred many years prior. In public at least, Lysa found the role of the "honorable widow Lady Arryn" to afford her some sort of prestige in King's Landing, and she was sure then to put on a decent mummer's show of grief: becoming the most teary-eyed and woebegone of any widow of the recent war in the Seven Kingdoms. Truly, Catelyn found the playacting far worse to bear than her sister's true callousness. At least her callousness was genuine and not overplayed to garner… improper attentions. Father had not yet suspected anything on Lysa's part, and Catelyn believed her to have interfered before anything truly wrong had occurred, but Catelyn now devoted herself to keeping a watch on her sister—even in the company of the new Lord Denys Arryn—whom Catelyn had noticed had caught the eye of her sister in a way her former husband had not. Lysa for her part defended her actions as that she was but a young widow, and that grieving for very long over such an old man as like to die as Lord Jon had been, would lose her the best years of her bloom and youth if she carried on in perpetual mourning, to the point where her bloom would completely faded.

Edmure unfortunately had been left in Riverrun with Uncle Brynden—he had been so looking forward to the war continuing and the possibility of becoming a squire to some knight—now with the crowning of King Robert, unlikely to last much longer to afford Edmure such an opportunity. Personally Catelyn was glad for her little brother's sake. Father had been talking that if the war had lasted another year or so of possibly sending him to squire for her husband—which Catelyn of course now had rather strong opinions of. Edmure was but a boy of nine namedays—he should not have to see such sights as the Kingswood until he was much older and likely better to handle it better, if there ever was such an age that one could handle such sights. Would Lord—Eddard return the same man? She could not let such thoughts bother her. No.

Father had been quite surprised to receive a letter from the King requesting that he be made Hand of the King, though he suspected it was only due to the fact that Lysa's dear late husband—who had been like a father to the King, or so she'd heard—was dead. Mayhaps the King was in need of father figures, having lost not only his own but his substitute father. Mayhaps that is what all men need in dark times such as war. Catelyn hoped that her own son's father would come back just as much the man he had been when they had made him together. Father of course accepted the position of Hand, and had brought both his daughters to King's Landing as soon as Uncle Brynden could be installed as castellan of Riverrun—he had been wounded as Stoney Sept and stayed behind to see to the clean up after the battle. What came as the most shocking part was when Catelyn had heard, from talking with Denys Arryn—she had meant to convey her sympathy at his recent losses—that it had been her lord husband who had made the suggestion in the first place. What was Catelyn to make of Lord—Eddard now? She knew not.

Father for himself seemed to be well adept for the position of Hand, agreeing with Lord Denys' suggestion that as Head of the remaining Targaryen family he should reach out to the remaining women of the line and offer them protection and titles befitting their status. It would better secure his throne and keep away those who would use the Queen Dowager and the Princesses for their own misdeeds. Father of course emphasized that not only such a suggestion was right to do for family, but also was his duty and the honorable choice. All in all, her family had prospered much from the alliance with the Tullys—much more so than any other house, which made Catelyn nervous. The gods do often raise up those they intend to have fall, and Catelyn made sure that she remained ever humble in response. She could not rely on her husband to forever be "the Bloody Wolf", some day he would grow old and die, and her son would be left to take his place—however uneasy she felt about that.


	16. Mace

**MACE**

When the single wily old Dornishman who had managed to escape with his life from the Battle of the Kingswood had told Mace of the "bloodiest battle he'd e'er seen" in all his fifty years of fighting—old enough to have fought in the War of the Ninepenny Kings of Mace's childhood—Mace Tyrell had begun to worry. Before leaving Highgarden his mother, the dowager Lady Tyrell, had cautioned him against riding out himself—saying he was a "great fool of an oaf" if he did so. She suggested leaving the fighting to Tarly—he may not know how to appreciate the finer things of life, but a good military campaign he did.

_"Let him go and get himself killed fighting for our mad dragon of a King. He has not his heirs still in the nursery," _she had said.

But that was precisely why Mace felt he had to fight. Mother worried that if he died he'd leave the Tyrells in a position to be challenged by the Florents and Tarlys for the Lord Paramountcy. But if he as Warden of the South as well as Lord Paramount of the Reach did not go and fight then whichever one of those who had might return from the war ready to challenge the Tyrells once again with an army at their back—especially if it were Tarly. Despite his closed mouth exterior, Mace knew much more than he allowed his mother to believe.

Long ago he'd learned that Mother had favored his sisters, Mina and Janna, more than he—no matter what he said. She always doted on them more, spoiled them more, showered attention on them, complimented them, supported them, she did everything for them, while he had simply learned to shut his mouth and keep his opinions to himself around her. Father had truly been a fat oaf who'd cared more for wine and hawking than he had his children—which is why when Father had ridden off that cliff, Mace had barely noticed his departure from the family. But mother had always favored the girls of the family—excepting his own wife of course, because anything he did was wrong. His heir Willas seemed to be the exception to everything with her. His son, whom Mace considered to be very like himself in mind and spirit—though without the curse of his father's oafish countenance—was doted, loved, and encouraged, whereas Mace had been constantly critiqued and brow beaten, even into his majority. He had never been good enough for his mother, and she had henpecked him into a living statue because of it. The only comfort Mace had ever found was in food. And the older he got the more reasons he found to take comfort in it.

Despite appearances to the contrary at times, he had always taken his mother's advice into consideration, she was after all the most intelligent woman in all of Westeros—he just never took it in the way she expected him to. He knew damn well he was not made for fighting—he didn't need her to remind him of that, every time as a child he'd made some accomplishment she had instead tutted that some part of his form was off compared to that of his uncle's or cousins'. In his youth he had had the potential, but also the need for comfort. Comfort had of course won out, but for a while there he had been stuck at a crossroads, like he saw his second son Garlan approaching—he too could go either way.

_Seven help the boy as he grows older, may Mother not ruin him like she ruined me._

However what Mace knew he could do for his family was to secure it so that no matter which side won this war or rebellion—whichever it was called in the end—that House Tyrell would remain as they were: Lord Paramounts of the Reach and Wardens of the South. He could maintain the status quo—and if a new dynasty happened to arise, he could leave an impression of strength by showing "how he could have destroyed the rebellion, had he wanted to", more than he could marching his men halfway around the Seven Kingdoms and back. Thus, when the time came for the new dynasty to choose a house to marry into, all he needed to do was produce one daughter, just one. Seven help him he never knew how much trouble it was to get a girl—not that he did not love his boys any less, but they could not marry a potential future heir to the throne. Thankfully Alerie reported that the Mother had seen fit to bless them with yet another child, and she now was in constant prayer to both her and the Maiden for a daughter.

But all of these plans would be in jeopardy if he were found still laying siege to the new king's original seat of power after he had taken power. But was he the king, yet? He had won the battle of the Kingswood—but he could still be laying siege to King's Landing—it was a tricky path to take, and Mace had had his fun here as well—part of showing strength to the few stags who did still reside in Storm's End was his ability to feed himself and his men—each day he laid out luxurious feasts—well luxurious in comparison to what was likely being served inside of Storm's End, he imagined—and reveled in that simple but effective display of power. And of course no feast would be complete without singers. People mocked his House's words—even his mother did—but what they all forgot was that without the growth of a plant, there would be very little to eat, and everyone would be like the young stags currently in Storm's End—staring out with their gaunt faces and hungry eyes. On some level he pitied them—mostly the youngest lad, who was likely about Garlan's age he guessed—but the boys needed to learn this lesson the hard way—supplies were as much a part of war as swordplay and strategy.

Which is why when the supply lines from the Reach coming up the Roseroad and down the Kingsroad stopped, Mace had panicked. It meant of course that Paxter Redwyne would have to spare some of his fleet to bring the supplies around Dorne and that they would have to be go on half rations—but something had changed to the north—they were no longer in easy connection to the Roseroad—something was blocking the path or had scared the men off.

Then the whispers of "the Bloody Wolf" had arrived, along with the descriptions of the "Blood Cross" as the intersection between the Roseroad and Kingsroad was being called. No rumors of King's Landing or any place farther north reached them—they were entirely cut off from the rest of the Seven Kingdoms. The rumors told of how the crossroads were permanently painted red with blood and bodies piled up upon the road above the treetops. Twenty-thousand Dornish spearmen had met their death at his fangs. Some even said that the Bloody Wolf was his vicious ancestor Theon "the Hungry Wolf" Stark reborn, the Stark who featured in the tales of the few houses of the Reach who still claimed some distant kinship to the First Men of old—as he learned from his men—supposedly had kept the North in a constant state of warfare. As with all problems Mace faced he found comfort once again in food—he then took a break for prayer—then found his comfort once again.

And what was the worst news of all was that the Bloody Wolf was rumored to be coming straight for Storm's End.

_Seven help me through this trial._

Once learning this news Mace began to find it hard to sleep, and much harder to eat—the food tasted stale and paltry now and provided little nourishment and comfort to him. He paced much about his tent—the war was coming for him, and the wolf would snap his jaws about his neck and find much flesh to feast upon. Mace found he could not think of anything but the bloodshed to come that he grew to be such a wreck with each passing day that it finally came down to Randyll Tarly to break him from his state of hysteria.

"Allow me to go, my_ lord_, and test this reputation. I have experience defeating these rebels—they are a motley crew, and poor excuse for an army. I guarantee ten to one that the Northerner has simply gotten lucky. He and his backwoods barbarians have had the element of surprise at their disposal. They fight in boiled leather and call that armor—some even say they still cling to their bronze weapons as well. They have not yet fought a properly trained force of men. I shall take only five hundred of the best of my fighting force and bloody this 'Bloody Wolf' for you—so that of course _your_ forces shall easily vanquish his for our dragon King," proposed the balding man, who in his armor appeared complete in his grim war-like visage. They were such moving words that near helplessly, Mace agreed to let Lord Tarly go and meet the Bloody Wolf in battle.

He never heard from Lord Tarly, again. Instead words of the approaching maelstrom of the angered "Bloody Wolf" who had taken the capital for the "Demon of the Woods" and rode with pike that had Lord Tarly's head on it reached his ears.

What pushed Mace Tyrell over the edge into deciding to end the siege was when one of his singers began to compose a song his men quickly began to call the "Wolves of Winterfell", Mace had had enough. He packed up the last of the rations he could spare, left them at the gates for the hungry stag boys and took the remainder of his army, boarded his ships and sailed back for Highgarden. He would not be like the fool Tarly and stay to meet the Bloody Wolf. Unfortunately it meant he had to listen all the way round Dorne and back to Highgarden to the Wolves of Winterfell.

_They came south one spring, the wolves of Winterfell,_  
><em>They came south of the Neck, but four wolves in all,<em>  
><em>They came south to the God's Eye, for a tournament, I tell,<em>  
><em>And when they stayed in the south the dragons did fall.<em>

_They came south one spring, the wolves of Winterfell,_  
><em>They came south of the Neck, with a she-wolf so fair,<em>  
><em>She came south to Harrenhal, for a dragon's heart, I tell,<em>  
><em>And when she stayed in the south she earned a blue rose so rare.<em>

_They came south one spring, the wolves of Winterfell,_  
><em>They came south of the Neck, when the she-wolf was wronged,<em>  
><em>They came south to the capital, for a dragon's head, I tell,<em>  
><em>And when they stayed in the south two wolf's heads were gone.<em>

_He came south one spring, the wolf of Winterfell,_  
><em>He came south of the Neck, to avenge the pack,<em>  
><em>He came south to the Sept, for the Battle of the Bell,<em>  
><em>And when he stayed in the south he led a bloody attack.<em>

_He came south one spring, the wolf of Winterfell,_  
><em>He came south of the Neck, to crown the Stag's head,<em>  
><em>He came south to the Crownlands, to the Kingswood, I tell,<em>  
><em>And when he stayed in the south the Dornish were fled.<em>

_He came south one spring, the wolf of Winterfell,_  
><em>He came south of the Neck, to fight for the Falcon's head,<em>  
><em>He came south to the Red Keep, to kill the dragons, I tell,<em>  
><em>And when he stayed in the south the dragons died o'fear instead.<em>

_He came south one spring, the wolf of Winterfell,_  
><em>He came south of the Neck, for the she-wolf, his pack,<em>  
><em>He came south of the Woods, to meet the red huntsman, I tell,<em>  
><em>And when he stayed in the south the huntsman lay dead 'pon a stack.<em>

_So when the Bloody Wolf rides south for an attack,_  
><em>Ne'er be between a wolf and his pack.<em>


	17. Barristan II

**BARRISTAN**

Barristan regretted taking sail with Ser Willem. The man was quite old—old enough to be his father, a young father, but a father none the less. In a lot of ways he did remind Barristan of his father, Lyonel, who in truth had only been but a few years older than Darry. In fact the more time he was forced to spend with the man trapped on this ship, the more Barristan realized that he seemed to inhabit every irritating habit people his father's age inhabited that had driven Barristan half mad as a youth.

Ser Willem could never be still, he always had to be moving and doing something, and if he could not be doing something he had to be thinking of something. There was never a moment's rest with Ser Willem, constantly on the go. And if he had anything at hand he would fiddle with the contraption with his hands absent-mindedly , eventually succumbing to his desires to take the object apart to see how it worked and if he could put it back together better than it had been made. Had Ser Willem had the fortune of being born to a merchant or even a smallfolk, he might have found use for this irritable habit by being employed in some trade or other, but as it was, he had been born a nobleman's son—and thus had certain expectations thrust upon him which Ser Willem apparently had never seen fit to question—not that Barristan questioned the expectations he'd been raised with either, well except in moments when pushed too far. There were certain limits he would go to, and no further. With Ser Willem there seemed to be no limits whatsoever, he could take as much as you pushed onto him and keep going on his merry way as though it were simply the tasks one would perform every day. Mayhaps that was why he had lasted for so long and been considered a good Master at Arms for the Red Keep under Aerys—his ability to take orders without question and think very little on them. Barristan quickly came to understand that like his father, Ser Willem saw the world very simply in matters of black and red. Either something was or wasn't, there was hardly and room in between these two extremes, and while on points of Honor, Barristan agreed with Ser Willem whole-heartedly, on other matters this simplistic world view proved troublesome.

No more than now as Ser Willem tried to figure out the mechanics behind Varys' actions. As though the Eunuch were but another mechanical invention for him to fiddle with and take apart. Ser Willem would not be so grating, if he kept these thoughts to himself, or tried puzzling in silence, but again that constant need for action kicked in. For some reason he seemed to feel that he worked out these problems best when in conversation with someone, and considering Barristan were the only one who knew of these problems, that meant that Ser Willem was always trying to track down Barristan to talk out the mechanics of the problem with him.

Which is why Barristan upon being interrupted for the third time in one day by Ser Willem's need to "talk through" his concerns over the babe that Varys had secured and they were traveling for, Barristan had had enough. This day he had approached the problem while they were walking upon the deck from the point that the Princess might have been mistaken in knowing her own son, as to him it seemed near all babes looked much like one another. He spoke of them as if they were replaceable cogs in some gigantic clock tower.

"Ser Willem, I doubt not that the Princess says what she believes to be the truth, but the matter is hardly ever that simple. The truth for one person is a misconception to another. Regardless of whether the babe truly is Aegon, what matters is that those around him believe him to be Aegon—and that is a dangerous mix indeed," stated Barristan

"But the truth, Ser Barristan, is that simple. The babe either is or isn't the infant Prince, and if he isn't then who could he truly be, and why would the Eunuch spend so much time over an imposter? Finding the truth of the matter will shed light upon what dangers—if any—that the Eunuch may hold in his hands," offered Ser Willem as he fiddled with some strange looking object that had been left about the deck, which Barristan held little interest in. He found the random clicks and whirrs which came from Ser Willem's absent-minded disassembly of the object to be irksome.

Barristan leaned onto the gunwale of the ship and sighed, "A babe with Targaryen looks is not that uncommon a sight on Dragonstone, nor that difficult to procure for a man of many connections as the Eunuch. There are centuries of dragonseed to populate near half the island."

"But that would not explain why our Essosi Spider would want to put one on the throne," refuted Ser Willem.

Barristan shook his head, "Whate'er his reasons are, I am sure they made sense to the late King who likely ordered them if the babe truly is Aegon. You cannot forget that nearly everything that Eunuch did was upon the orders of the late King."

At this Ser Willem paused, the object in his hands snapping apart into two smaller pieces before continuing, "I have been considering how our Eunuch did come to Westeros, true the late King did invite him, but how awfully convenient that a man skilled in the art of secrets just so happens to become well known when Aerys has need for such a man. In all honesty, as an Essosi, he should care very little who sits upon the Iron Throne."

"Does he truly care? You're making quite the assumption doing so," Barristan scoffed.

Ser Willem smirked before giving his reply, "His actions say he cares a tremendous deal—do you not see them? After all, why would he go to all the trouble of sneaking an infant heir to the Iron Throne out of the Red Keep?"

Barristan paused for a moment before speaking—he could not admit that he wasn't concerned about the actions of the Eunuch. "That I'll admit has bothered me, but what truly struck me was the question of why he would whisk Aegon away like that at all during those early days—the Rebellion had not begun after all. It was simply a minor squabble between the Royal family and the Starks." One for which Rhaegar wasn't wholly blameless.

Ser Willem nodded his head before speaking, "I had not considered that, but you're quite right. And as for his Essosi connections, the only family in Essos that I could possibly think of caring who sat upon the Iron Throne…" and Ser Willem stopped—for the first time since having gotten on to the boat he had stopped dead in his tracks and silence stood between them.

That silence permeated everything—the object in Ser Willem's hands was not being fumbled with. The only place that silence did not exist of course was in Barristan's head—which without another thing having to be said he replied, "Impossible, I killed the last of that damnable line myself."

"The last of the _male_ line as I do recall. He could very well have had a daughter, or a sister, or even an aunt who upon his death carried on the family cause," countered Ser Willem.

Ser Barristan knew the inheritance laws to the Iron Throne plain as every other noble, "Then they wouldn't be a Blackfyre, thus being unable to claim the throne. The lines of the legitimate women would come before the lines of the bastard women."

"But that would not stop them from attempting to find a way to make a switch if perchance they happened to produce a child with Targaryen features about the same age as the Prince," suggested Ser Willem.

"That's an awful lot of chances to take to put one of their own on the throne, too many places where it could have gone wrong," countered Barristan

Ser Willem then appearing triumphant as if he had solved the problem entirely, "What if switching the babes wasn't their original plan to begin with, but instead it simply was to push the late King further into his madness, by playing up his worries about his kingdom and son—at the very least toppling the Targaryen dynasty while they waited to groom some Black Dragon prince in the wings to come swooping in while the Seven Kingdoms drove themselves into utter chaos and destruction tearing themselves apart with the fall of the Targaryens. But then when the opportunity arose to make the switch—it was made. After all, that would be a much easier way to put a Blackfyre on the throne."

The object in Ser Willem's hands was not completely disassembled, but it was in many more pieces than it had been when they had started. It was then though their meeting was interrupted by the distant sound of thunder, and Barristan realized that on their course they had drifted too far into Shipbreaker's Bay.


	18. Denys III

**DENYS**

Since the arrival of Hoster Tully, Denys had begun to feel as though the Old Trout were trying his damnedest to swim upstream of Robert's furious river of emotions. Currently they were stalled at the cataract Targaryen.

Though Robert had agreed to be _kind_ to his dragon cousins, by offering a place in his court for them, the one point he refused to be moved on was the future promise of marrying the not-quite three namedays Rhaenys to his future son and heir—should he be so blessed.

"That would be letting Aerys' blood back onto the throne!" protested Robert as they sat around the small council table discussing the matter in private.

Hoster countered, "By the time it sits upon the throne it would be quite diluted by the blood of Baratheons, Starks, and Martells."

"Remember Harrenhal, Robert? Even you commented how the girl looked all her mother," added Denys.

Robert protested, "She still has half of _his_ blood in her. It would be a disgrace to all my she-wolf's likely had to endure to force our future son to marry her!"

Lord Tully then suggested, "He committed an act through which she was equally wronged by, was she not? How could Rhaenys help the actions of her father? How has she benefitted at all from her father's… fascination with the Lady Lyanna? He betrayed his family as well as his honor when he abandoned them to the whims of the late mad King. She is just as much a victim of these circumstances as the Lady Lyanna and you are, as is her mother and grandmother. Why they have all but been stripped bare and tossed to your feet in chains."

"I know my house history well enough," grumbled Robert darkly.

"Then live up to the honor of its legacy! Let people say that you are Orys Baratheon reborn and wrap your cloak around our three Argellas," urged Denys.

"In truth you don't even have to do as much as Orys Baratheon did. You aren't the one marrying Rhaenys," admitted Lord Tully.

Robert's face scrunched up before he then emphasized, "No, but Orys made the _choice_ to do so. And in so doing proved himself a great man. You both are asking me to take such a choice away from my son, even before he's born."

"Would you rather some other lordling chose to marry Rhaenys and got a child 'pon her who grew up to challenge your son's throne?" asked Lord Tully

Denys remembered how easy the boy who had first come to the Eyrie had been to outwit by building up his ego. Denys decided to use that against him for Robert's own good, "Uniting the claims to the throne would ensure peace and tranquility in the realm for several generations to come. It would be the lasting legacy of your reign—minstrels would praise you as Robert the Great for centuries!"

Robert grew very silent for a moment, before mumbling what sounded like, "Damn you, Jon…" to himself. He then sighed and growled, "Send a bloody raven to Dragonstone. I would have us meet to discuss these arrangements in person, preferably from a place of neutrality—like Driftmark."

"A wise decision, your grace," admitted Lord Tully.

"Yes, yes, fine. Send Lord Stokeworth in on your way out," muttered Robert with a wave of his hand. Lord Tully and himself then rose and left, allowing Lord Stokeworth in to the small council chambers as they left them.

After they had been walking for a bit together, Lord Tully asked of Denys, "How did you manage to get him to agree? There's nothing you've said that I have not tried myself."

Denys thought for a moment before answering, "I've known our King for several years—his weakness is that he likes to be thought well of. For as long as I've known him, he's always been eager to be seen well and accepted by others, but doing things that would actually make him well liked does not come naturally to him, and therein lies the rub. He has the desire to do good, but not the will to always follow through. He needs someone to hold him to such a course—or a group of people if one will not suffice."

"Hm. You are a wise man for your young years," commented Hoster with a guarded sense of appreciation.

Denys smirked before saying, "I have seen nearly five and twenty namedays, I should hope I've acquired something in all that time."

Lord Tully chuckled slightly as they came to a junction in the hall which split in two opposite ways—one to the Tower of the Hand and the other to the guest chambers and the rest of the castle. Just at that moment—conveniently enough—coming down the hall which led to the Tower of the Hand was one of Lord Tully's beautiful red of hair daughters.

Admittedly though Denys had been introduced to them and held conversations over meals with each, he had been avoiding the ladies outside of any other social interaction. As such he still had trouble distinguishing the Tully women apart. The only guide he had to help him at this point was that one was pregnant with Ned's child while the other wasn't. This one lacked the considerable bulge in her dress, so it must be Lysa, his new intended.

Denys had two reasons as to why he avoided the company of Lady Lysa. First, he felt it would be improper to be around her under the guise of her new intended while she still grieved so for her late husband. Although he did wonder at her vivid display of grief she carried for a man who she had hardly known, while he considered the man to have been a father to him. The other reason of course was that while he spent time with Lady Lysa he was reminded that he was once again free to marry and that Annalys was truly lost to him forever. In some ways being with Lady Lysa felt as though he were dishonoring Annalys. It was far easier to just avoid all interactions entirely.

Today however seemed to be the day his plan to avoid the Lady Lysa was doomed to failure as after greeting his daughter, Lord Tully quickly scampered off to the Tower of the Hand, leaving the two youths together. They were silent for the longest time, Denys stealing a few brief glimpses at Lysa and he suspected she, him.

Finally, feeling that abandonment would be completely rude to the Lady, he suggested, "My lady, 'tis a pleasant day outside, well enough for an afternoon stroll I would imagine."

Lysa gave a sweet smile, but then a sad look passed over her features, "I would be delighted to accompany you, Lord Arryn… but I am afraid that I was on my way to the Sept to pray to the Stranger for my husband's immortal soul."

There was something about this seeming piety which bothered Denys. Mayhaps he simply wanted to discover the truth of the lady's source of grief, or mayhaps the impulse to actually speak with her for once actually came through. Either way he offered his arm to her—surprising her as he then said, "Then I shall escort you, my Lady."

She sweetly responded as she took his arm and he led her down the hallway, "You are too kind, good Ser."

They had only taken a few steps when he spoke next, "I find your grief for your late husband to be quite touching, my Lady. You may not know this but I considered the man to have been a father to myself."

"Oh?" commented Lysa with little emotion.

"Aye, I grew up in the Eyrie," elaborated Denys.

A short pause passed before Lysa added a paltry comment of her own, "Although I knew my lord husband for only a short while, he appeared to be a very… fatherly sort of man."

There was just something about the way she said that, echoing his own feelings without holding any of their sentimentality that bothered Denys. Jon deserved more than that. And so Denys set about setting that right with Jon's widow, "'Tis a shame he ne'er sired any children himself, for he would have been the most devoted of men to them, and there would have been no better role model in the virtues of honor, discretion, and wisdom. I can still remember the time when I had first come to the Eyrie. My father had said that there was no more money for me to remain at home with him and his bottles. I was to go and beg my way amongst my richer cousins while I left him to his love affair with wine. I had come to Lord Arryn hurt and upset, half-expecting to be treated with that kind of tolerance that one gives to those whom you don't truly believe belong amongst your class. And I would be lying to say that there were times that I did not feel that. But they were never intended and as a rule Lord Arryn was nothing but kindness, never insisting that I learn anything that I wanted not to do. I had come to him expecting to be taught a skill to benefit his household, such as those that might befit a steward, but instead he raised me with his two younger wards as though I were the same. He saw that though I started late in life, I could to ride well, and he purchased a horse especially for my own use and encouraged me to ride the rings—from which I have managed to make a bit of a name for myself in the tourney circuit. He had his faults to be sure. He was distant with his emotions, never feeling at all comfortable sharing that side of himself except with those whom he trusted deeply. Some might have called him cold or reserved because of it. He held people to high standards—mayhaps with too high an expectation that they meet those standards, especially us boys that he had a hand in raising. But weigh everything out and I would say with candor that he was likely the best man to have lived in this past century."

"Indeed," was the only thing the Lady Lysa could say this. He could feel how awkward she felt by how lifelessly her arm entwined with his, had become. The obvious farce of her outward appearance of grief that she played up for the public was now exposed for what it was in Denys' eyes. But he would not let her suffer the public humiliation of knowing that he had found out the truth. After all, it was not her fault she had not had much opportunity to come to know Jon. He could wish she were but honest—that would be the honorable thing—but mayhaps she felt pressured to show more grief for the benefit of others than she truly felt. Denys knew not and he did not wish to speculate any further—such would not be gracious to the lady.

And noticing that they had arrived outside of the Royal Sept, he said, "One day I hope to honor the example which he set, should the Seven wish it. Well, my lady, I do believe we have arrived at the Sept."

"Oh yes, we have," said Lysa rather absent-mindedly, and he pulled her arm from his, gave a courteous bow and turned and began his departure. He had not gone very far when he heard her call out his title, upon which he turned.

Lysa spoke haltingly as she said, "Before I continue with my devotions I would like to speak with you further about my late lord husband. As his cousin, you of course must be the best person to have known him."

Denys was pleasantly surprised. Mayhaps there was more to Lady Lysa than he had assumed from his discovery.

"Your pleasure is my command, my lady," Denys said gallantly, and he resumed his side by her. Speaking about Jon with someone who obviously was not as troubled by his loss as he was Denys found was oddly helpful—if anything it took his mind off of Annalys and Jasper. They continued to converse as they left the Red Keep, touring the gardens in the late afternoon air, speaking about Jon and in a roundabout manner, Denys' adolescence. Lady Lysa listened with true interest this time, and Denys could not help but see that she were slowly coming to see Jon the way he had, and that satisfied him.


	19. Gregor

**GREGOR**

After riding near night and day, they'd finally arrived at the Vulture's Roost, a decaying old castle—a common feature of the Red Mountains—which sat on the River Wyl. In the days before Myriah Martell had married Daeron II, being right on the border between the Stormlands and Dorne, the Vulture's Roost had been an important castle to maintain and keep for the defense of Dorne as it guarded the port of Wyl at the mouth of the river from armies seeking to use the river to sail down and capture it—not to mention blocking the pass which it was settled at the edge of. But since the unification, Vulture's Roost had since fallen into complete disrepair, being naught but a shadow of its former self—or at least it seemed that way to Gregor. To him, it looked as if one well-placed punch might easily cause a tower to collapse into a pile of rubble. There seemed to be no company but stray ravens and the vultures from which the castle had earned its name.

It was just a large enough structure that a person could hide in its walls and not be seen. If the Stark girl were being kept here, she was likely in some small side chamber, which would make getting in close enough to kill her tough—but not impossible for Gregor—as the building was obviously built with the smaller Dornish stature in mind—no matter he would just break through the wall, simple enough. He had strength enough to do the task, and if the girl died that way, well he'd just pull her body out of the rubble and make sure the job was finished.

At six namedays Gregor had left Clegane's Keep to begin to learn the basics of how to become a knight at Casterly Rock. He was to learn from Benedict Broom the master-at-arms of the Rock when he had free moments from teaching Lord Tywin's son Jaime. And in the meanwhile he was supposed to help in the stables as an extra stable hand so he might "earn his keep" and learn his way about a horse. At six namedays he had been the normal size of a squire of eleven namedays. And because of this and the maid he was jeered by some of the knights and elder squires in service to Ser Broom

He was slapped across his face, knocked in the head, or boxed about his ears every time he was even suspected for doing something wrong—which being on the larger size for his age, but still relatively small and young was thus a frequent occurrence. He was the person to blame if there was even the suspicion of a problem. In those early days Gregor had learned the hard lesson that if he were to do well in this world he would do well not to be weak… and he would never be weak again.

One time he was knocked too hard and had fallen and hit his head upon a rather hard stone one morning. Ever since Gregor had been pained with dreadful headaches that would come at the absolute wrong times—his vision would grow blurry, he began to hear a pounding in his head, sounds became too loud, lights too bright, and an unending pain that never seemed to cease. All that mattered was getting rid of it—and the pain seemed to lessen when he beat things. It felt good to be the one beating things for a change.

At eleven namedays he began fighting back against those who hit him. He was almost as tall as the elder squires and knights by that point, and after beating them to a bloody pulp he felt a power rush through him that he'd never felt before beating the pigs or the maid—the sweet taste of vengeance. Ser Broom was horrified by him at that point and had him sent back to his father's household. The headaches though still came and his little brother Sandor was there to remind him of how weak he too had once been.

As they walked through the abandoned castle, Lorch sniffed on the air, as though his piggy nose were trying to find truffles. Down one hallway that had one of its walls collapsed, opening it up to a view of the pass and the river directly below, Lorch had stopped and then pointed into a room. They entered it to find a woman—obviously one of the smallfolk from her worn thin clothes, stringy hair, and missing teeth—and a small boy huddled in the corner

"Oh lookie…we've found ourselves some fun," said Lorch

Being large of stature had at first given Gregor an early introduction to the pleasures of a woman—at ten namedays—though looking more like he was fourteen namedays—he'd had his first girl. She had been a maid at Casterly Rock and she'd seen him one evening beating a pig bloody—just staring at him as though he were some stuffed pig she wanted to eat herself. He'd asked her what she wanted and she asked if he could do that to her. She had taught him what occurs between a man and a woman, and she had been the first he'd found to truly enjoy the pain he dealt—which at first had scared him, but then later felt more and more like a challenge. It was their secret little game. He wanted to know just how much pain could she find pleasurable, and what her limit was… death, apparently.

"Where is the wolf bitch?" demanded Lorch as Gregor lazily held her back with only one arm from rushing at Lorch. Lorch had the woman's bug-eyed son with teeth like a beaver hanging from a rope by his wrists to an old wooden rafter beam from the nearly caved in wooden roof, in his one hand was a torch.

"Verily, I know not! We only came here to escape the Bloody Wolf!" implored the woman, and Lorch did as he'd done before when she'd given that answer—singeing a part of the boy.

"No, Torric!" called out the woman as the torch began to move. This time, having finished blackening the bottom of the boy's feet he decided that the boy's raven black hair offended him and so he turned his head as red as a Tully's—if only for a brief while. The boy's cries of pain sounded at first sweet to , but then that dull ache began right behind his eyes. The woman began to grow hazy, the screams began to sound like knives piercing his skull, and the throbbing pain began. There was only one way to end this, and so he lifted the woman's skirts pushed her against the wall and began pulling at her already stringy hair.

They left what was left of the boy huddled around the broken and bloody corpse of his mother. He would die soon anyway. The rest of the castle was empty—utterly empty. It had been naught but a diversion. The she-wolf was still out there, and they would find her.


	20. Stannis

**STANNIS**

Robert had asked him to hold Storm's End, so he had, though they were at the point of starvation. More than once they had to burn the wasted corpse of some servant who'd died of hunger. They burned the bodies because very few people had the strength or energy to dig proper graves in the lichfield, and Stannis suspected that if the bodies were kept too long that some of the more desperate might turn to cannibalism like the wildlings practiced far north of the wall—or so it was told. Each time they had to burn a body, Stannis tried to quell the joy he had at having one less mouth to feed. It was a horrible way to think of people, but in the end it was the truth, and the smell of burning flesh no longer bothered Stannis.

Through the meals of dog, horses, boiled leather, and now the dead rats they could catch he continued to hold Storm's End, while the Fat Flower outside had feasted each day. Renly went to a window daily to stare out at the feast the Tyrells gorged themselves on, and each day Stannis had to do his duty to pull the petulant boy of four namedays away from seeing such sights. Locking him in his chambers did no good as that also looked out over the feast. It was hard enough getting his little brother to remain quiet and seeing all the fine things that were being eaten outside only made matters worse as he'd then go and tell the entire castle. Renly was too young to understand the importance of maintaining morale and the damage his childish excitement was causing, but Stannis would not excuse him for it. Considering the number of times he'd explained it to him, Stannis thought his brother ought to have caught on to the concept by now. In the early days of the siege he'd found ways of distracting Renly by taking him out to the practice yard and batting sticks with his little brother. Renly had liked this, and it had taken both of their minds off of the slow gnawing hunger scratching in their bellies. But then the hunger became too strong and the stick fighting too tiring to continue on what little they ate.

Renly most days clung to Stannis—why he knew not. Mayhaps it was because he had never known their parents, being but a babe just climbing out of the cradle when they had died within sight of Storm's End, and Stannis looked the most like him. Stannis knew not what to do with Renly, he was not their father—that he made sure Renly understood perfectly. But in the ways that Robert had not been a brother to him—preferring the company of the Northern wolf—Stannis tried to be one to Renly. He read to his brother the stories of the Storm Kings of old from whom they were descended, and he let his brother stay closer to him than he suspected he might have allowed had there not been a siege occurring outside. After all, should the Tyrells manage to scale the walls and snatch him to force Stannis to bend the knee and yield Storm's End, he'd never forgive himself. He gave his little brother the most amount of food to eat in the whole of the castle, cutting his own rations to near starvation level to keep Renly alive. He might not be the most jovial of brothers like Robert was to Renly, but Stannis would protect his brother and make sure he was safe and cared for—like Robert never would.

One day Stannis had pulled Renly from the window and Stannis had taken note to see that the Tyrells were now on what looked to be half-rations. Had Stannis still worshiped the Seven he might have praised them, but since he did not, he tried to have the archers who manned the walls listen up to hear why this change had occurred. What he heard bode little cheer, Robert's "other brother", who'd earned himself the reputation of being the "Bloody Wolf"—which conflicted with the memory Stannis had of a quiet shy young man that had hung about Robert's shadow at Harrenhal—had apparently cut the supply lines that fed the Tyrell siege and was making his way down the Kingsroad. There was no word of Robert being in the party. Of course, Robert would send his loyal lapdog instead of coming himself. As for this reputation, Stannis found it irritating to hear, and the wild stories that spread from his archers to the rest of the dwindling staff somehow found their way to Renly's ears, who reveled at the news of this new hero whom he might actually get to meet over the dead ones of Stannis' stories. Not only had this "Bloody Wolf" taken Robert, but now he was slowly taking Renly from him too. Was he to lose every member of his family?

When the Fat Flower had packed and boarded his ships—apparently frightened at the word of the arrival of the Bloody Wolf, he'd left a cart of provisions outside the gate to Storm's End. That infuriated Stannis. It was his final cruel joke to him. If Stannis accepted this cart he was admitting to the fact he could not provide for his people and brother. Like the bodies he had the cart of food burned. He would accept none of the Fat Flower's false charity. He would sooner see Highgarden burn.

Afterwards none of his household spoke to him—with many simply deserting Storm's End for the promise of food to be found elsewhere. In the end the only people of his household left were Renly, Ser Cortnay Penrose, a cook, a huntsman, and the youthful fool Patchface that had been the sole survivor of his parents' shipwreck and their last gift to him—as they had said in their last letter they had found a fool that could teach him to laugh... a task the youth had yet to achieve.

When Robert's "other brother" had arrived he came to find Storm's End a deserted place. Renly upon seeing the direwolf banners had run out to greet him, while Stannis stayed in his brother's solar watching the meeting take place. To look once again at Lord Stark, Stannis was even more suspicious of the new reputation that he had acquired, especially with how Lord Stark allowed Renly to hang on him, like he had been on Stannis.

"Lord Stark," greeted Stannis when the "Bloody Wolf" had finally made his way to his solar—Renly still hanging about, begging to hear of his victories in the field. Finding this a barrier to talk with the lord, Stannis had Ser Cortnay take the young Renly outside so that they could speak.

Lord Stark began with, "I thought Storm's End was under siege."

"As you can see, it ended," answered Stannis as he clenched his teeth.

"Where did they go? Part of their force engaged mine along the Kingsroad—killed near a thousand of my men before they were through—if they're still about—" began Lord Stark.

"They're gone. To where I know not, nor do I truly care. They are not here and that is all that matters to me," answered Stannis.

"I see," was Lord Stark's reply.

Silence then engulfed them. As the minutes passed it seemed almost like a contest to see which would last the longer—Lord Stark it seemed had not the endurance Stannis had as he said, "Your brother, the King, commanded me to tell you that he is in need of ships."

"Robert is King?!" asked Stannis, more than a tad incredulously.

"Aye, he would like to offer you the position of Commander of Ships if you can raise a Navy for the def—" began Lord Stark

Stannis interrupted him, "You mean Master of Ships"

"No, Commander—it seems his grace has a few plans for reform."

"I see… and who else is on his Small Council?"

"Lord Tully is his Hand

"Not Lord Arryn?"

"Jon, died…" answered Lord Stark quietly

Stannis said nothing—he knew that Robert had considered the man more a father to him than their own father had been, but to replace him with Lord Tully?

"Who else?"

"Lord Denys Arryn is his Master of Laws, and I myself am his Commander of Arms and Men. He might have appointed others, but I would not know since I have not been in the capital."

"And my brother asked me to become his Commander of Ships, why?" asked Stannis.

"He told me that one of the things you know best is how to sail," answered Lord Stark.

Stannis nearly choked on his breath to hear that said of him.

"Tell my brother—"

But at that moment his solar's doors were opened and a man brown of hair and eyes burst through the doors. It took Stannis a moment to recognize the intruder. He was the smuggler, Davos, that had been caught and brought to Storm's End with his ship for trial of his crimes here just before the siege had started. After the siege had begun to wear their spirits down, Stannis had taken a tour of the dungeons one evening, telling each of the prisoners yet to be tried that they could either choose a quick death now or starve with them, that Stannis had spoken with the man. The smuggler had offered to run the blockade and bring back food in exchange for some leniency on his crimes. Figuring that the man would be likely caught or killed by the Redwynes, Stannis had given him leave to try. Now it seemed the man had kept his word. Perhaps some smugglers and thieves had some honor after all.

"Ah, my lord, I am glad to see you still live! When I saw that the blockade was gone and that the castle appeared empty I had thought—well, oh pardon me, I knew not you had company," began the smuggler.

"Lord Stark, this is Davos a s—"

"A sailor, my lord," interrupted Davos as he gave a bow.

"A smuggler," finished Stannis, making a point of it that the truth be known.

Lord Stark merely nodded to acknowledge Davos' presence.

"Could I impose on you Lord Stark to take this man your prisoner, for he must yet face trial for his crimes," asked Stannis.

Both Lord Stark and Davos looked at him as though he were mad.

"But, my lord, I brought you food to break the siege. If I am to be tried, then it must be done by yourself, as we agreed," implored Davos.

"You will be tried by me, and your service will be taken into account, as will the fact that your previous crimes remain what they were," explained Stannis.

"If you cannot take your own prisoners captive, I would not presume to ask others to do so for you," growled Lord Stark and he left the solar without further comment, followed quickly by Davos, who gave him one last look before doing so, leaving Stannis yet again all alone.


	21. Jaime II

**JAIME**

With the departure of Ser Barristan, Jaime was the sole Kingsguard on Dragonstone. It was a responsibility he had never had before, and he soon found that being so required many hours of standing guard with little rest—especially with the enemy so close.

Guarding the dowager Queen and two Princesses from the fat bald eunuch proved not to be a difficult task as there was no true physical threat from the man. And as for the mind games he played, it seemed Queen Rhaella and Princess Elia could hold their own against the Spider.

Such as this evening, to anyone who knew not the Queen and Princess, it simply appeared as though Princess Elia was teaching her young nearly three namedays old daughter how to play cyvasse along with the Eunuch helping the novice that was the dowager Queen.

"No my dear little dragon, elephants move this way," corrected Elia as she helped her daughter's little fingers move the piece correctly across the board. The tiny girl in her lap stared as the bulbous animal slide to its proper destination.

"Oh, my Lord Varys, they do threaten us from the right flank with their elephant, mightn't now be the time to use your dragon?" asked the Queen

"And risk giving away the most powerful piece in the game, your grace? I would hardly advise it. Instead I would move the spearmen her to face their light horse."

As this move was made Princess Elia whispered in her daughter's ear, and the little girl nodded her head.

"And yet you already have," said Elia as she lifted her daughter over the board so that the girl could better reach a lonely little rabble piece that made a single move that took away their dragon.

"Oh pity… and this game was just beginning to look like fun," commented the Queen sourly.

Jaime found it simply fascinating how the dowager Queen and Princess could talk circles around the Eunuch.

"The game is hardly over, your grace," countered Lord Varys.

"But with the dragon gone, it simply becomes a long drawn out mess. Things are so much simpler when you have a dragon. I'm tired of cyvasse, if you wish to continue playing in my absence to give my granddaughter a challenge, then by all means," said the Queen as she rose to leave. Jaime looked to the Queen and with a shake of her head and glance of her eyes he understood that he was to stay and keep watch on Elia and Rhaenys, and say what he would say to her to Elia instead.

"Your grandmother, my little princess gives up rather quickly," commented Lord Varys to little Rhaenys.

"She's had a lifetime of long drawn out messes, I think she's allowed to be tired of them," commented the Princess.

"She'll never see her grandson on the throne if she continues to think like that," commented Lord Varys as he moved his trebuchet.

"Have you managed to convince her to leave for Pentos?" asked Lord Varys

Princess Elia now moved her elephant to destroy that very same trebuchet, "I try, but we all know that the usurper has no fleet in King's Landing, and as long as he has no fleet, why should we leave an island?"

Lord Varys clucked, "By the time they have a fleet it will be too late to leave."

"So you have said. I still do not see why it must be Pentos. Tyrosh or even Volantis would do just as nicely," countered the Princess

Quietly, Lord Varys admitted, "I have some friends in Pentos, my Princess who would help our cause."

By this point the young Princess Rhaenys had curled up and fallen asleep in her mother's lap, leaving Elia to play for her daughter alone.

"High placed friends, I assume, for you would not ask the Queen and myself to run around Essos as beggar maids, now would you?" asked Elia with a sweet smile.

Lord Varys' answer was measured, stating, "Better to be a beggar and live, my Princess, than a Queen and dead—for if you live one day you might rise to bring justice to those who have wronged you."

"Justice… so many people talk to me of justice, and yet when you seek justice, my Lord, does that not then allow those others whom you have wronged to right your wrong, to pursue the same road of justice? And once they have achieved it then of course you must have justice again… more and more it seems to me that justice is just another word for vengeance," commented the Princess.

"Was there ever a difference?" asked Lord Varys.

Elia smiled and then said, "There should be an end and that is what justice should be."

"If one brings justice about rightly, then there is an end," countered Lord Varys.

"It seems my dear little dragon has fallen asleep, I am afraid we must continue this game at a later time," said the Princess graciously.

"Of course, my Princess," said Lord Varys as he bowed his head.

As Princess Elia rose she picked up her daughter and adjusted her so that her daughter leaned onto the side of her hip. Unconsciously the little Princess adjusted herself, resting her tiny head of dark curls onto her mother's shoulder. With her other hand she carried an oil lamp to help her journey through the hall. Jaime followed the two Princesses out of the room and down the darkened hall, keeping watch on them. When they were far enough away from the room that they had left Lord Varys in, Jaime spoke the one word he had been bidden to tell the Princess by the old master before he had burnt the letter:

"Driftmark."

Silently the Princess nodded her head, though to any observer it looked as though she were but nuzzling her dear daughter.

Jaime liked not the plan—there were too many ways it could go wrong, but they needed someone to go, and the Queen could play at being sick for as long as the ruse needed. Driftmark was quite close, it would only be for a few days, and Varys—Seven willing would not be the wiser.

And soon he would be able to see Cersei.


	22. Arthur

**ARTHUR**

The road leading to Starfall became easier as it came down out of the mountains and ran parallel to the Torentine. The horses which they had acquired from the Manwoodys proved useful as it had become difficult for himself and the she-wolf to walk long distances—though he was more slumped over on his horse, clinging to its neck than riding. The she-wolf by comparison rode as though she had been born on the back of one—despite being heavy with the potential future sister of young Prince Aegon she truly was. There would be yet a few months before she'd give birth to the child Rhaegar had called Visenya, but even still, she was still quite large with the thing. In truth, the she-wolf should have been confined to birthing chambers, but Arthur and Oswell could not chance staying at the Tower of Joy any longer—especially with what had happened there already.

The she-wolf had insisted upon going outside, stating that if she were to be confined to birthing chambers she should at least be able to see the sky once more—never mind the fact that the tower was so dilapidated that Arthur suspected that even when she was confined to birthing chambers she would still see parts of the sky, but no matter. Lord Commander Gerold had allowed it, and so she was allowed to go outside—escorted by the Lord Commander himself, while Oswell and Arthur had taken the time to relax with their armor off. Arthur himself had been dozing for just a few moments when the she-wolf had yelled. It was not a scream. There was no hint of helplessness from her tone, only shock. Immediately Arthur's eyes snapped open, he grabbed Dawn and rushed outside without his armor. Lord Commander Gerold was being attacked unfairly by two plainly armored men—though one of them should have been more properly described as an unseemly giant with his height—with the fallen she-wolf doing her best to turn the rocks and stones about her into weapons.

As Arthur was to engage the second villain, chance would have it one of the rocks that the she-wolf had intended to hit one of the attackers, instead hit the Lord Commander's leg causing him to flinch if only for a moment as his one leg gave out and for the giant plain armored man to take that opportunity to swing his sword down with enough force to pierce the Lord commander's chainmail and leave him wanting a head.

By the time Arthur was engaging the men and Ser Oswell had joined them, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard had fallen, and the true battle had begun. Oswell had dispatched the other man relatively simply, but the giant… well the giant had proven the toughest and in the end, after a nice gash had been carved across Arthur's chest , Arthur with help from Oswell, had manged to drive Dawn straight through the man's armor and through his gut.

Arthur had endured some scars—a rather nasty one across his chest had even moved the frozen she-wolf to pity after the two villains had been vanquished, and insisted upon seeing to his wounds. He wanted to refuse, to tell her to leave him to whatever fate that the Seven decided for him. He would not have the she-wolf that had stolen the Prince from Elia touch him. He would obey his prince's command and look after her until she had delivered the child, but that did not mean he had to appreciate her—hell the Prince seemed not to care much for her either if Arthur read him rightly…

So why had he dishonored sweet Elia? Why take the she-wolf? Arthur had asked him time and again that question, only to get the same muddled reply of "the song of ice and fire" and "the dragon must have three heads." Arthur hated to dwell on the thought, but in the few months that the Prince had been here at the Tower, Arthur had begun to question if the man was truly saner than his father.

_When a Targaryen is born, the gods flip a coin…_

One thing was clear they were not safe at the Tower anymore—others knew that they were there. Ser Oswell buried Lord Commander Gerold and hung up the two attackers from the walls of the tower as a deterrent to others that might follow. Ser Oswell stripped the two villains of their armor leaving their corpses bare for the birds to pick clean—already the vultures of the Red Mountains hovered overhead, and it was only then that Arthur recognized the giant as the man that the Prince had so recently knighted. He was a Westerlands knight, though the name escaped Arthur with the amount of pain he was in.

_So Tywin has finally joined the war? What did he hope to gain by this?_

They then left, and in his weakened state, Arthur had asked that they remove to Starfall—though it would take a few weeks to get there, if he were to die of infection he would wish for it to be as close to his ancestral home as possible. Ser Oswell had agreed, and together along with the she-wolf they had set out with what little provisions they had brought. The servants—the cook and her husband that they had brought with them were paid and dismissed.

Each evening, the she-wolf tended to his wound with a poultice made of herbs she found and recognized—saying that they would not heal him, but stave off any infection as long as they were reapplied each day. He hated to feel the touch of her fingers across his chest—it felt wrong as though she were tainting it with her own vile charms. Mayhaps she was a Northern greenwitch or whatever they were called. How else but with sorcery could she have stolen the Prince from Elia. Elia, who held the sweetest face in the entire realm, and who deserved much better than she had received.

They came in view of Starfall within a week. It should have taken three days, but with how weak he felt and the state of the she-wolf they had taken a much slower pace than they would have otherwise.

Starfall was a magnificent white-stoned castle set upon an island in the middle of the mouth of the Torentine where it met the Summer Sea. To see it once again cast against the lovely light blue sky and waters, and verdant green trees which dotted the riverbanks, Arthur felt himself fall into a blissful haze.

When he came to, he was back in the chambers of his youth with a bandage across his chest. It was early morning and having fallen asleep in a chair by his bedside was Ashara… his dear sister Ashara holding a bundle… a bundle that moved and then began to scream.

Had he slept that long that the she-wolf had delivered, or had the journey caused the bastard to come early?

At the sound of the infant wailing, his sister came to and in a state of what looked to be complete exhaustion moved to expose her own breast and placed the infant upon her own chest. She had not noticed he was awake—obviously still in a daze between waking and sleeping. Something was wrong here. Ashara should not have been nursing this child—they had employed wet nurses like Wylla for that—but the very fact she could nurse this child at all…

"Seven damn the villain who left you with child."

At this his sister looked up surprised at first moving to hide the suckling babe in her arms, but then realizing that such a move was pure folly, she simply slumped back in the chair for her own ease, and replied with a rather weak and exhausted voice—far different from the energetic laughing one Arthur was used to hearing from her, "The Seven be blessed you're awake."

"Who?" asked Arthur. She had not seemed at all pregnant when Arthur had last seen her when he'd departed King's Landing with the Prince for the North, and yet she must have been for the babe to be at her breast now, and that must mean the man must have been at that Tournament. It wasn't that she had brought yet another Sand into the world—no, it was that the man had done this to his little sister and abandoned her.

Ashara sighed and said, "Arthur, you have spent far too much time in King's Landing. I _chose_ to keep my babe. I could have drunk moon tea."

"Why did you not?" he asked.

Ashara smiled silently for a moment, as if reflecting on something that Arthur knew not. When she did reply, her voice still frail said, "Because he had been rather sweet—far sweeter than any man I had had before—and I wanted to have a way to remember him."

His sister had been charmed into keeping the babe by the mere acts of a mewing boy? "Sweet?"

Ashara laughed, but it was an anemic version of her usual one, breaking into a tiny cough before she could control herself and continue on with what she meant to say, "_He_ was the blushing virgin, eager to please _me_. He proposed, afterwards, believing he'd wronged my honor somehow, and that a marriage would somehow repair it. I had thought that had been a precious thing to say, but I had not been looking for a marriage by bringing him into my bed, and I told him as much. A man and a woman can find pleasure in one another without it resulting in a marriage, I had told him. He of course took that the wrong way and had stormed out."

Of course, Ashara had always been one to enjoy her pleasures—no matter where they took her. And like any elder brother he had always found it hard to give in to letting her have her way—he always put up a fight of course, but ultimately she would get what she wanted, no matter his protest. But who could the damnable man be that had convinced her to bring yet another Sand into this world? Mayhaps a look at the child would give away the identity.

"Niece or nephew?" he asked.

"Nephew," she replied, handing the satiated babe to him. In an instant Arthur had narrowed down the possibilities of who the father might be to two candidates—and knowing the distinctions in personality between the two by reputation he felt he could pretty well guess which of the two was the actual father. Brown tufts of hair, a long face, and sleepy gray eyes gave everything away.

_Damn the wolves._


	23. Hoster

**HOSTER**

_Seven damn the sailors for fleeing the capital!_

Hoster tried quite hard not to think of falling deep into the sea. Though he had been raised all his life upon a river and enjoyed such cool waters—he had always preferred a river to that of the sea—especially on a boat this small and rickety. Lord Tytos Blackwood and the young Lord Jason Mallister and accompanied him on this voyage for "his own protection", but it made the likelihood of tipping the small fishing boat that was the largest vessel that had been left in King's Landing. The three of them, plus their armor, and the captain caused the boat to sit quite low. One wrong move and they would end up in the water.

"May the seven remind me never to go sailing with you again my lord," commented Tytos with a wry smile, after Hoster scolded him for reaching his hand lazily into the water and causing the boat to lean.

"I prefer a mode of transportation that I have more control over. Give me a good horse any day!" proffered Hoster. He was a natural on a horse—he understood horses well and they him.

"Pahh… a horse has a mind of its own, my lord, a boat needs only rowers, sails and the ability to read the wind" dismissed Jason with a confidence that they would not tip over so easily.

"And when the wind shifts and the waves rise?" countered Hoster

Jason shook his head and said, "Then you do what you can, or pull in to shore and wait."

"With a properly trained horse, you don't have to wait," rebounded Hoster with a slight scoff.

They made it to Driftmark without taking on too much water over the side. But needless to say Hoster was not looking forward to the return trip.

Driftmark was the largest island of all those in Blackwater Bay, and used to sport three large settlements before the Dance of the Dragons in which the town of Spicetown was so brutally sacked by the greens—the bodies of men, women and children had been butchered in the streets and left as carrion—that it had not been rebuilt ever since. They would meet the representative from Dragonstone in a abandoned small cove not too far from the ruins of that town. The cove was known by a distinctive outcropping of rocks which jutted out in the shape of a face, earning the cove the name of the "Watcher's Cove". They found the tale relatively easily. As they pulled into it, Hoster looked up at the rocks fabled to be said in the shape of a face, and he saw, not a perfect representation, but a likeness close enough to give an eerie feeling of being watched by its solemn expression. When they pulled to shore there was already a similar sized fishing boat there awaiting them—one with two hooded passengers plus their captain. After their boat had been secured by an anchor thrown to shore, they and the other boat's passengers did rise and meet inbetween the boats. The representatives did not reveal themselves but instead pointed to what appeared to be a secluded gave just below the infamous Watcher's face. They entered it and began their discussions.

The first person to reveal themselves was Lord Celtigar of Claw Isle, Hoster recognized the sour man on sight.

When the other figure pulled back the hood, Hoster was immediately taken aback by the sight underneath it. Standing there before him was the Queen Dowager herself—and Seven help the poor woman she was a sight to see with scabs formed all over her beautiful face. She was a far cry from the young beauty Hoster recalled her being, near thirty years ago.

Upon recognizing her Hoster bent his knee to the Queen Dowager, and Jason and Tytos likewise followed his lead. He was then was waved up by her grace.

"No need for ceremony here, my lord. Stand Hoster, and let me look at you," she implored.

He obliged, Jason and Tytos rising along with him, who along with Lord Celtigar silently took posts at the mouth of the cave so that Hoster and the Queen could speak in private.

"You've gone near completely grey," commented the Queen.

"Aye, and you are—" he began.

She interrupted, "I can look in a piece of Myrish glass well enough to know exactly how I look. So please, save your flattery for someone else." She then took a breath and continued, "Presumably we've each arrived from our respective side to discuss conditions with one another."

Hoster immediately responded, "Yes, of course. As Hand to the King, Robert Baratheon, King by right of conquest and inheritance to the Iron Throne, as recognized and crowned by the High Septon, anointed with the Seven holy oils would—"

"I said there was no need to stand on ceremony, must you be so formal Hoster?" asked the Queen.

"Your grace…"

Almost exasperatedly she said, "We are nearly alone in a cave on an island far enough from court. If you speak plainly, I promise that I won't tell. Besides, it will save us time."

_What did she mean by saving time?_

Hoster gathered himself and continued, keeping to the point as well as he could, "The King would like to extend his protection for his cousins as his ancestor Orys Baratheon took Argella Durrandon under his protection."

"Is he to marry one or all of us then?" clucked the Queen dowager with a slight wit that Hoster had not seen in her since before she'd married Aerys.

"The proposal is that the Princess Rhaenys be betrothed to his eldest male heir," expounded Hoster.

"When he has one, I am assuming," countered the Queen.

"Indeed, your grace. Lord Stark is searching for the King's betrothed at this very time."

"Is there anything else to this proposal?" asked the Queen.

Hoster nodded his head and said, "He would raise Dragonstone to a seat of Lord Paramount of the Narrow Sea. It would have sworn to it the islands of Driftmark and Claw Isle. All of this he would give the young Princess."

"Making Rhaenys what exactly? Lady of the Narrow Sea? And what about after she marries our King's eldest son? Who gets Dragonstone then?" questioned the Queen.

_She's sharper than I thought… Aerys must have dulled her wits._

He continued his explanation, "The second son she gives birth to would be given the seat upon the ascension of his elder brother to the throne."

"And what name would my great-grandson have? Baratheon, I presume."

"Indeed, your grace."

She was quiet for a moment, considering the offer as it stood, "It seems a generous offer for Rhaenys."

Hoster agreed, "The King is generous."

"Indeed, he did so generously give my son the gift of death," she replied darkly. But then after a moment she sighed and admitted, "Not that I wouldn't say he did not deserve such a gift. He was nearly as mad as Aerys was… he just channeled his madness into different things. I used to pray to all the Seven that Aegon would be more like his mother… but now that seems a moot point."

Another silence followed, and just about when Hoster was to speak, she said, "The only condition I would seek to add to this agreement, is that if my great-grandson would so choose it, that he be allowed to take up the name Targaryen along with the title—if he so choose. I would not force the name upon him, not with its legacy of madness and bloodshed. I simply believe it would be better to give my future great-grandson more a sense of being his "own man" rather than his brother's lackey. One path allows for peace to exist while the other leads straight back to rebellion and chaos."

"You speak as though you can see the future," answered Hoster.

"I was not gifted with that blessing of my house, Hoster. I merely speak from knowing my own family's history. Is there anything else to this offering?"

Hoster nodded yet again and continued, "He would bring you all to King's Landing so that the young Princess may have access to the best education—"

She interrupted yet again, "So that we may be watched?"

Hoster emphasized, "_Protected_ your grace, from those who might seek to use you for their own ends."

She was oddly silent on this matter.

The Queen at long last replied with, "I shall have to discuss this matter with my gooddaughter. The offer is a generous one… one which would bring peace. And after all that has happened in the last year I fear we need that most of all."

"You shall of course, send your reply by raven?" asked Lord Tully

"Aye. To be frank with you, I would not expect an answer so soon. There are things… which must be seen to first," answered the Queen.

Hoster's looked at her with suspicion, "I fail to see how securing peace in the realm is not a top priority."

The queen stressed, "_It is_. King Robert can have his hollow crown—it has brought naught but tragedy and misfortune to my family. First Summerhall, then the madness which drove Rhaegar to abandon his wife for the she-wolf, and then the madness of my husband to provoke the issue into a full out rebellion then finally to kill himself and all his heirs male. Robert can have the Iron Throne—I am tired of tragedies befalling my family. May he and his family be better suited to it."

He asked, "Forgive me your grace if that is your attitude, then why take so long to discuss it at all?"

The Queen nervously replied, "Elia will have to convince her brother to bring the war to an end."

"A fact easier achieved by accepting our offer," replied Hoster.

She elaborated upon this issue, "If we do so before convincing that gouty old snake, he'll say we were coerced into agreeing and keep the realm at war. Dorne after all resisted the dragons, they'll resist any army which attempts to pass through the Boneway or Prince's Pass."

Hoster scoffed, "With what army, milady? The Royal Army of Dorne was utterly routed but a moon or so ago at the Kingswood."

She now seemed much sure of herself as she spoke, "They need not an army to declare independence—which they would do if we're not careful. They would put a spear and bow in every Dornish man and woman's hands, man the Boneway and the Prince's Pass with but a handful of their best fighters, and all their castles with but a few men and let the Red Mountains and the desert destroy what army dares try to enter. You could seize Planky Town and Sunspear, I suppose, but then the Dornish would simply retreat to the Red Mountains—and that would be a long bloody conflict, and the last thing either the Princess or myself wish for is a long bloody conflict. The realm has already suffered for the madness of my husband. Let us keep peace whatever way we must."

_She's hiding something… but what I know not._

After giving the matter some thought, he came up with a solution, "I would feel better if I did have one of my men with you, and in return I would take one of your men."

"You doubt our honor?" questioned the Queen with some incredulity.

Hoster rebounded, "I do not, but I would remind you that honor is in neither your House words nor the Princess Elia's House of birth."

"And yet you would call yourself honorable to doubt mine?" asked the Queen with some amazement.

"Call it being secure. It would be a sign of good faith until the peace is settled. I would have this exchange of men to ensure that during our negotiations the lines of communications will remain open," explained Hoster.

She seemed to consider this for some time but then finally agreed, and it was arranged that Jason and Lord Celtigar would be exchanged while negotiations continued between them. Jason volunteered, telling Hoster in private that if things truly turned sour he at least would know how to sail a boat for his escape if he had to commandeer one. As they left the cave their parties agreed upon their course, Hoster noticed that Lord Celtigar handed Jason a letter he jotted off quickly to give to one of his men. Hoster thought to the one benefit that would come from trading Jason for the sour Lord Celtigar was that at least the trip back to King's Landing would not be so perilous as Lord Celtigar wore no armor.


	24. Arthur II

**ARTHUR**

After that first morning, Ashara came to see him each day at that time, bringing his nephew with her. For some reason, Arthur could not help but notice that with each day she seemed to grow more exhausted—but she insisted upon the ritual, dismissing his worries as "Nothing but a trifle. Don't worry it will soon pass". He asked if the babe had a name one morn.

She sighed and said, "No. I want to give him a Northern name. He'll have Sand all his life, so I thought he ought to have something of his father in his name. I had thought to name him for his father."

"So Eddard Sand?"

She smiled but then shook her head, saying "While Ned is his father, Eddard Sand just sounds wrong—as would Ned Sand. I then thought mayhaps Brandon—since it is such a well-known Stark name. But then I thought that people might think Brandon had been his father… and besides Br_an_ S_an_d?"

Arthur smirked and added, "The children at the Water Gardens would tease him unmercifully."

Ashara giggled at this, which led to a small cough, before she continued, "I have tried to see if I could find any other Northern names that I might like, but we have so few records of the North that… well, it's difficult to say the least. I know 'tis bad luck for him not to have a name, but I haven't found _his_ name—you understand, Arthur?" she explained.

He nodded then offered, "Have you asked his father for a suggestion?"

At this Ashara seemed to frown and grow even paler than she normally was.

She admitted quietly, as though it were a great secret, "Ned mustn't know."

Arthur was confused, and then asked, "Why? Why keep the boy from knowing his father?"

His young nephew mewed in his arms and began to root around, finding a new position to lie in.

"There are reasons…" she was interrupted by a small coughing fit, but soon gained control of herself, "reasons which I promise to tell you, but not now. Not when I have such little time…"

_Such little time? These coughs, her exhaustion… was she—no, she said she was going to get better. I have to believe it. Then what else could little time mean?_

"Ashara, what are you planning?"

Before she could answer there was a knock at the door. In entered one of the nursemaids, Wylla, if Arthur recalled her name well enough—who had been hired by their family when his younger sister Allyria had been born three years ago. In her arms she carried a small bundle, just like the one he had seen his nephew being held. Had his elder sister Amyrilla and her husband given him another niece or nephew? Ashara's reaction was almost visceral as she stood rather quickly, swaying as though unsteady on her feet.

"Wylla, I told you—!" she began, but what she had told Wylla, Arthur never found out as she promptly collapsed to the floor.

"Ashara!"

"My lady!"

Wylla then at once entered the room, placing her bundle down upon the bed near him so that she could look after Ashara. Arthur was so concerned for his little sister's safety he did not look at the bundle placed upon him.

"I told Lady Ashara she should not ignore the Maester's orders—but she insisted," clucked Wylla.

"What's wrong with her?" asked Arthur, feeling for the moment almost like a scared child.

"The birth of her babe was a difficult one. She lost a lot of blood, yet she's managed to survive… but she's not been the same health-wise ever since. The Maester told her to stay in bed… but then you arrived and the Lady has been on her feet the entire time."

_Ashara… why have you been doing this to yourself?_

Ashara meekly began to stir, and Arthur breathed a sigh of relief, for the moment. It was then Arthur heard a cry from the bundle that Wylla had placed on the bed, and he turned to see what he thought a nephew of his might look like. There was the silver-blonde hair, and dark blue eyes that in certain light almost appeared violet, but like his own were truly a dark blue.

"And is this another nephew of mine?" asked Arthur.

The nursemaid responded, "No my lord, this is Prince Aegon."

As soon as she had said it, Arthur thought back to the last time he'd seen the infant Prince—he'd noted then that young Aegon had had the same eyes as his father—dark lilac. This babe's eyes before him were too dark.

"Verily you jape, Wylla, for this cannot be the young Prince."

"I say only what my lady has told me, and nothing more," clucked Wylla honestly. At this point Ashara began to rise. Wylla said she would be right back with some servants to help escort her back to her rooms.

Something was wrong here. Ashara had been Elia's personal handmaiden, surely she should have seen the infant Prince often enough to know upon sight that this could not be the young Prince. But then again he'd known the shade of Rhaegar's eyes well enough and seen them in the young Prince. Since Ashara was so oft with Elia instead of Rhaegar, mayhaps she—no she still should have known.

"Now you know…" wheezed Ashara miserably as she sat on the floor leaning against the legs of the chair.

"What were you planning, Ashara?" asked Arthur

She croaked, "Once I was better I was going to flee to Essos, and raise them as brothers."

"Why flee to Essos?" he asked.

"To raise the young Prince... like I promised Elia I would... She was worried what might come after the Starks were…" Elia stopped, trying to catch her breath.

He recalled Ser Gerold's tale of the gruesome deaths of Lord Rickard Stark and his son Brandon. He'd joined them after being sent to find the Prince, and stayed at the Tower upon the command of the Prince to guard the pregnant she-wolf. Thinking of being burned alive by wildfire... Seven help the victims of Aerys' madness.

"What's happened since the death of the Starks? I've heard little news since then beyond the fact that there was a rebellion."

"Have you not heard, Arthur? The rebels have won. They slaughtered the Royal Army of King's Landing at the Stoney Sept and then marched for the capital. They met the Royal Army of Dorne and slaughtered them at the Kingswood. The Red Keep was burned to the ground by Aerys, and from what anyone knows the whole of the royal family is dead. Rhaegar was slain on the battlefield by Robert's warhammer at the Kingswood, along with our Dornish troops, and now that 'Demon of the Woods' rules as King now."

_Seven Hells!_ Had the world so fallen apart since then?

"What of the Tyrells?" he asked.

"I know not, last I heard they still were sieging Storm's End, but with Aerys dead, Robert is treated as lawful King as well as King by conquest."

He could not stand the thought of Rhaegar's murderer sitting upon the Iron Throne as though he'd had a right to it. The thought angered him. "You said Elia gave you her son?" asked Arthur

"Not herself, no. She had Lord Varys give him to me after I was discovered to be pregnant and then forced to leave."

_Lord Varys?!_ Arthur did not trust that man, he had been too close to the King and always whispering about Rhaegar… but then again mayhaps he had been right to whisper in the King's ear about Rhaegar. But that mattered not. Arthur thought for a moment of the Red Keep being burnt down by Aerys, and shuddered to think of Ashara amongst its ruins... Seven be blessed, Ned Stark had saved Ashara's life by giving her his nephew. Not that he'd ever admit that though. He turned to look at the other babe, the one said to be Aegon and considered for a moment a life of raising the babe in Essos with the she-wolf's pup when it finally came. Always on the run, secretly training him to be a good Prince, one who he would see would not be driven to Targaryen madness. But he looked again at those dark blue eyes. No, no one would believe that this was Aegon—not till every person who remembered Rhaegar was dead and buried, and that would take years… years that the babe would grow into an impatient and possibly reckless young man, waiting to take a crown that he felt was his. There was only one truth in this whole messy situation, and that would be that he would still have to wait for the she-wolf to give birth. If she gave birth to a bastard son, he would go to Essos—if Ashara was well enough and wanted to come as well, he would not stop her. Together they would raise the she-wolf's bastard—for even her bastard progeny would be better than Robert as King, and have more right as King, bastards of the male line after all came before sons of the female line. This blue-eyed babe could pass for his own son in Essos—no matter the truth of his origins. He'd ne'er need know the truth, and he and his nephew could be good and loyal supporters—generals even, for he would train them well—to help bring the she-wolf's pup to the Iron Throne. But one thing had to be made clear before this future could be possible.

He calmly broke the silence that had drifted over the room, "Ashara, this is not the young prince—his eyes, they're dark blue."

"They're a blue-violet," she insisted.

He answered firmly, "No, Ashara, they're clearly blue."

He then set his nephew down next to him and held up the babe that had been left by him, so that Ashara would see the truth for herself.

Ashara stared, and Arthur saw from her face that she recognized the truth, though she seemed loathed to admit it. She eventually did concede in a round-about way, "Prince Valarr and Princess Alysanne both had blue eyes."

"Yes, the Targaryens may have blue or purple eyes. This is known, except I know that Prince Aegon had his father's dark lilac eyes."

"They were more violet when I left King's Landing," said Ashara as she looked to the floor of his chamber.

"Violet is not dark lilac, Ashara. Whoe'er this babe is, this is not the Prince."

It was then Ashara looked up at Arthur, meeting his eyes. By her silence and pleading look, Arthur understood that _she had known_, and that she had known for a long while. Mayhaps though why she had been loathed to admit the truth to herself was because she had thought to have been asked this of Elia and had not wished to fail her, especially after learning of the destruction of the Red Keep. Admitting that Varys had given her the wrong child would have been admitting failure.

It was then that Wylla returned with two man servants who helped Ashara to her feet and steadied her as she walked. Arthur wished his little sister well and she said not worry for her, and that it was just a triffle.

_Oh Ashara, when will you learn to ever admit the truth to yourself?_

This left Arthur with his nephew and the false prince, though this was not for long as Wylla returned. She seemed to have trouble picking up both babes, so Arthur offered to carry his own nephew back to the nursery for her. Wylla of course said he should be in bed as much as Ashara, but Arthur cared not. He was tired of sitting abed. He wanted to find out more of what had happened since he'd left for the North with Rhaegar. For the first time since returning home, he actually wanted to see the she-wolf and hear of how she fared—for she held the future King, of that he was certain. The she-wolf's pup would be a King who he, his nephew, and this false Aegon would fight to crown.

After rising, he threw on a loose fitting silken shift that left little to the imagination but it was light enough that he would not sweat profusely upon donning it. He found his legs a slight bit sore, but still manageable once he had walked about the room a bit. He picked up his nephew and followed Wylla, casually asking the nursemaid where the she-wolf was kept. He discovered that she had been confined to birthing chambers almost immediately upon arrival.

"Lady Amerilla had insisted upon it, the moment she saw the lady," explained Wylla

Arthur knew where the birthing chambers were—they were but in the same wing as the nursery.

He proclaimed with some ease, "I shall take my nephew to see his aunt then." It would give him an excuse to check on the she-wolf.

"Ser, you know a man is not permitted to enter a birthing chamber for the months a lady has taken to confinement!" exclaimed Wylla with a bit of japing shock.

"I hardly think the she-wolf will give birth to her pup this month yet," replied Arthur, as they came to the nursery. He continued on while Wylla entered to lay the false prince in his cradle while Arthur continued on to the end of the corridor where the magnificent wooden door, with a carved relief of falling stars. He opened the door and came to a darkened chamber that contained a large bed. The room smelled of incense, specifically of myrrh for protection, frankincense for purification, and roses for peace and serenity. The room was sparsely lit with a few candles that hardly gave much light, and upon the bed sat the she-wolf. Arthur had to admit that in the dim light she appeared quite… entrancing. He could see how mayhaps in something like the moonlight Rhaegar might have been distracted by her wild northern beauty for a moment—though that did not excuse his abandonment of sweet Elia. The she-wolf put down the book she had been reading by candlelight upon his entrance into the room. The she-wolf should not be so calmly sitting in this room, and yet she was. She seemed strangely affected—likely due to whatever else Amerilla had mixed into the incense—his elder sister had learned from an old greenblooded woman the effects of different smells upon people—an old Rhoynish bit of magic, she had called it. He made a note not to stay too long, lest he be affected as well.

"Ser Arthur… I had wondered if you still lived… they have told me nothing since leaving me in these chambers," said the she-wolf languidly.

"As they ought not. You should not trouble yourself with other matters during these final months," insisted Arthur.

"I suppose not…" answered the she-wolf dreamily, she then laid back a bit more upon the bed and smiled, before asking, "I feel my son within me grow stronger each day… soon he will come… and avenge me."

_He'll avenge the Targaryens if I have anything to say about it. Though… that'll be at a later time… not, now…_

"I've brought you a visitor, my lady," said Arthur as he brought their shared nephew to her arms.

"Oh?" asked the she-wolf as she took their unnamed nephew in her arms. A look of shock washed across her face like a wave from the Summer sea against the beaches of the Torentine. And just as quickly as it had come it left.

The she-wolf spoke lazily, "I must dream… yes, for that's the only way you could have brought me my son before his birth or come yourself… yes… this is a dream…"

"No, my lady… this is your nephew… your brother Eddard's bastard son…" he could not help but say.

"Ned father a bastard? I'd sooner believe day to have become night…" answered the indolent she-wolf.

"And yet my sister gave birth to him all the same," answered Arthur.

"No… this is my son… and this is but a dream…" protested the she-wolf tiredly.

She would be fine. She would deliver the future King and he would take the children and Ashara to Essos. The she-wolf could remain here for all he cared. _But that would not be fair to the future King—to be raised without both his parents… _The incense! It was already clouding his mind. He had to leave. _But it is so pleasant here._ He had to leave now, before he became as indolent as the she-wolf was.

And he took his nameless nephew from the she-wolf's arms and left the room, her meek protests following him all the way. The slight cloud of the incense stayed with him as he came to the nursery, and it wasn't until he threw open a window and breathed the fresh clean breeze off the Summer sea, that Arthur began to feel once again in control of himself. As he looked out upon the Summer sea, he saw a ship he had not seen a few days prior had docked upon the small private port that his house controlled at the mouth of the Torentine, upon its mast flew the banner of House Targaryen.


	25. Davos

**DAVOS**

He had nearly left Storm's End after that insult. He had risked much gathering all those onions to bring to the young Stormlord, but now they were useless it seemed. All that work, for what? So that he could have his honor insulted? He had meant it when he said he wanted an end to life as a smuggler. He admitted as much to Lord Stark, who had quietly listened to his prattle as they walked out of Storm's End.

"Yet you did smuggle, did you not?" remarked Lord Stark.

"Aye I did, but when you're born at the bottom of a flea's ass, you do what you must to survive. Honor is a thing to dream of then. I have a wife and a few sons now, and I am tired of constantly being on the run and rarely being able to see them, of them having no home to go to but be constantly on the move for fear of capture to force me to surrender. I would like to live the quiet of a good, clean life."

"How many men could you take on your ship?" asked the northern Lord after silence.

"That depends, do you like sleeping with onions or not?" asked Davos with a smirk.

"It matters not where we sleep, as long as we sleep. I would ask of you to sail a select group of my men and myself south to Starfall."

"Why Starfall, my lord? Why not back to the capital?"

Lord Stark spoke measuredly, "I have a… friend I wish to speak with before I continue on with my orders. I need to get into Dorne now, and I need to get there without anyone being the wiser."

"So yet another lord asks me to smuggle for them," mumbled Davos

_Am I never to end this business and know a quiet life?_

Lord Stark seemed to understand and so clarified, "Clear your debts with Lord Stannis and then do this for me, and I will provide land for you and your family to settle down upon in the North. There are vast tracks of it along the coasts which would be good for a family with skills in ships, especially on the western coast."

Davos looked at Lord Stark, he saw that he meant what he said, "My lord, you are a just man. I will do what you ask, _and_ take care so that you and your men need not sleep with the onions."

Davos turned to re-enter the gates of Storm's End. As he did, he noticed something he hadn't the first time. He had noticed of course that the castle was empty looking, but now he noticed just how much as there was not a guard or an archer in sight, mayhaps not even in the entirety of the castle. Suddenly Davos saw the situation from an entirely different perspective, and he knew how he could make good with the stubborn Stag and mayhaps come out with his hand only a slightly harmed instead of completely chopped off. If he was to make good and be honorable he must face what he had done. So Davos grabbed a piece of rope and as he returned to the solar of the castle, he tied the rope loosely around his own wrists—it would only help him make his point, if he was smart and glib with his tongue.

He found the young stubborn stag lord brooding not in the solar, but outside of it by a window. He cleared his throat, and Lord Stannis turned, his piercing blue eyes spearing right through Davos. Davos held out his tied hands

"Forgive me my lord, but I could not help but notice that you seem to be missing a few men. Since that is so I thought I might save you the trouble of having me brought back to you for your justice."

"Enough with these theatrics. I have enough men."

Davos put down his hands, though he did not take his hand out of the ropes.

He said, with some slyness, "Then my eyes must mistake the archers and guards for gargoyles."

"A few have left," Stannis gruffly admitted.

"For what reason have they left, my lord?"

"None you need concern yourself with," snapped Stannis

"I mean no offense, my lord. I merely seek to know how to help. For you see, it is not an easy thing to be a leader of men.

"What would you know of the subject, you're—"

Davos interrupted him here, to save himself the trouble of being agitated and losing focus, "A smuggler? Aye, that I have been, but I've also been a captain and led my crew. It takes more than one man to sail a boat. On a ship a captain is in charge yes, and his good judgment is called upon to be a lighthouse which his crew will look to for guidance in a storm, aye. But good judgment knows when to be strong in the face of a gale, and when to give way for compromise and the sake of mercy. Mercy most especially is a gift to be rarely given but when it is it shall spark loyalty in all those who know. The key is to be pliable—to be too stiff and one can become too brittle and break,

"And too loose and you bend too easily like a tree in the wind," scoffed Stannis.

"My point being that neither extreme brings loyalty. One must find a balance between the two, in my experience as a captain, that is. And a kingdom is like a boat, I daresay."

"You speak of mercy and giving way to sway my opinion, do you?" asked Stannis with narrow eyes.

"And yet I have returned, for your justice, and would see it through," countered Davos.

"Indeed, after finding it unsatisfactory before," said Stannis glibly.

Davos corrected him, "No, I found the idea that you would have someone else besides you—like we agreed upon—to be an insult to our bargain. And I also saw the gargoyles."

Stannis huffed and looked once again out the window. There was a long silence which followed and Davos wondered if he had already far overstepped his bounds—that is until Stannis replied with, "Why stay when you know you can leave? I have no real power to hold you you have pointed that out as much."

Davos let go of a breath he had not known that he'd been holding in all that time and said, "Because then I would not be given the opportunity to start my life anew—to give my sons a father they deserve and can take pride in."

"Do smugglers think of such lofty things?" asked Stannis dryly.

"Fathers do. And I am that now more than I am a smuggler," answered Davos.

Stannis once again paused, and Davos could distinctly tell that the young man did grind his teeth as he did, before saying, "Your words are sweet, but I do fear they're honeyed too much."

Davos urged, "Then test me. Pass your judgment and let us be done with this."

"And if you like my judgment not?" queried Stannis with what almost looked to be a smirk.

Davos stood up straighter, as though brought before the Master of Laws himself and said, "It is your judgment, if you judge poorly then that is for the gods to answer when they will."

"You put your faith in the gods, and yet smuggle? You are a contradictory man," remarked Stannis

"Do you not have faith?" questioned Davos—he had not ever run into anyone who had no faith—differing faiths, aye he had often met, but no faith? That was something else entirely.

"No. I don't," answered Stannis.

Davos commented, "Pity."

_He will never have the guiding wisdom of the Crone or the sound judgment of the Father to help him… he needs someone to help him… but who?_

"Would you have the judgment from me now?" asked Stannis and Davos was brought back from his thoughts.

"Aye. And I'd have you perform the sentence, no matter what you decide," insisted Davos.

The stubborn Stag swallowed, took a deep breath, and then nodded his head. He lowered his voice as if to speak with more authority than he truly felt, "The act of smuggling is a serious offense—not only does it disturb trade but it takes advantage of the poor and the smallfolk by undercutting the value of their labor. For such an offense the crime is usually severing a hand, but yet you've shown by your own power—when given the opportunity to leave, thrice now, you have instead returned to insist that your crimes be justly met, once after bringing provisions that were meant to help preserve the castle. Events however conspired against you to end the siege before your return, but I doubt not that you would have saved me and my people. For showing that even a smuggler can have honor when he seeks the proper justice of the law, I would not take your whole hand, but your smallest finger from each hand."

Davos met his eyes and said calmly, "If you would take them yourself, my lord, I would gladly give them to you."

Stannis took a deep breath and then nodded, saying, "Very well, shall we go through with it?"

Davos answered, "Aye, my lord."

And so Davos became an eight-fingered man. After a few days of recovering and unloading the crates of onions, Davos then set sail with Lord Stark and his fifteen men under a banner which he had used before many times to sneak into ports without a second glance—and so a black field with a red three-headed dragon upon it flew from his mast.

Lord Stark seemed to dislike the deceit, but as Davos reminded him: "You yourself my Lord said you wanted to get into Dorne without anyone being the wiser."


	26. Barristan III

**BARRISTAN**

Upon arrival at Starfall's port, Barristan took a moment to marvel at the sight of the home of sweet Ashara Dayne. The white castle sat on an island in the middle of the Torentine river where it met the Summer Sea, in the midst of a great valley of the Red Mountains which was a verdant green paradise supported by the river. Unlike other castles it had large windows—akin to that of a Sept—full of stained glass of the finest purples and blues and greens that Barristan had ever seen. Likely they were from Myr for such fine glasswork which glistened in the sunlight could be of no Westerosi craftsman—of that Barristan felt assured. Around the perimeter of the island was a wall with several watchtowers, the tallest of which flew the Dayne's family banner: a white sword and falling star crossed against a lilac field. Such castles were fit only to exist in song, Barristan thought—but Starfall proved them to be quite real.

The port was located on the shore of the mainland—away from the island—where a larger village of smallfolk dwelt. Obviously its existence was to support the castle, serve as a port of entrance and exit for the road that led north further into the Red Mountains of Dorne, as well as a stopping point for sailors on their voyages between Oldtown and Plankytown. What likely kept it from growing even larger was the small number of people who lived beyond in the Red Mountains.

There was no need to acquire horses for the short three mile trek from the port up the dirt road to the drawbridge that connected the island castle to the road and mainland, and Barristan found the walk invigorating after being cooped up on the ship that had been delayed by the strong winds of Shipbreaker Bay. Ser Willem found it a tad difficult to keep up, but Barristan made sure to wait for him when the distance became too large between them.

Finally they arrived at the place where the drawbridge met the road. Upon their approach a horn was blown. It was currently raised, blocking the gate on the opposite side of the river, which was several feet below them from the slight cliff edge at which they stood. The gate had on either side tall watchtowers from which several archers and guards stood. One of these guards, dressed in a surcoat with the emblem of House Dayne upon it shouted to them:

"Who goes there and what business brings you to Starfall?"

"Good guard of the gate, I am Ser Barristan Selmy of the Kingsguard, and my companion is Ser Willem Darry, lately the Master-at-Arms of the Red Keep. We have business with Lady Ashara of House Dayne, and would share it with no ears but hers."

There was a long silent pause after these words, Barristan felt the minutes pass as the guards talked amongst themselves and one of them left. This caused Ser Barristan to worry that something were amiss. But then a new figure at long last appeared upon the top of the watch tower—one dressed in a completely white armor. It took only a word for Barristan to recognize which of his brothers had come to Starfall.

"Welcome, my brother," called out Ser Oswell.

"I would believe we welcome if the drawbridge were lowered, Ser Oswell," added Ser Willem, who seemed tired of waiting as much as Barristan.

Ser Oswell replied, "It will be once one thing is determined."

"And that is?" asked Barristan.

"Long live King Aerys," called Ser Oswell, and Barristan knew he was being tested. He would have to tread carefully here.

"Aerys is dead by his own hands."

"And where were you?" asked Ser Oswell.

_Guarding the Queen._

"Obeying his commands," answered Barristan firmly.

There was a pause, and then Ser Oswell called out, "Long live King Rhaegar, then."

"Nay, the Prince is dead, slain at the Kingswood… and where were you?" challenged Barristan

"Obeying his commands… Long live King Aegon!"

Barristan paused. He knew not how much Ser Oswell knew of the pretender babe, and so he knew that while he had to have been careful before, he knew what he said next would be the true test. For the sake of the realm, the Queen, and the Princesses, he took a breath and hated himself the moment he spoke:

"Long live King Aegon."

Ser Oswell smiled, and then nodded to the gatekeeper, who signaled so that the drawbridge would be lowered. When it had settled upon the ground, Barristan and Ser Willem crossed it and the swiftly moving river beneath them. As they crossed the portcullis of the gate rose and the thick wooden doors of the gate opened to allow them to pass through.

It was like entering one of the Seven Heavens—or what Barristan imagined entering one would be like. There he saw a large main path of smooth white pebbles—the same width as the gate, and plenty wide for a wheelhouse—meandered across a wide expanse of gardens approaching the main entrance to the castle, which was on the other side of the island. In between the gate and the main entrance of the castle were gardens unlike any Barristan had ever seen outside of the Red Keep. These were far lovelier though for they held a certain antique wildness to them that the prim order of the Red Keep's gardens would find foreign. Branching off from the main path were several similar but smaller paths of pebbles, leading off through the flowers, trees, shrubs, vines, stone benches, bushes, fountains, and stoneworks. The gardens of Starfall all held to a wild beauty that Barristan had hardly taken notice to see—all that missed was for the gardens to be filled with chaste maidens with wreaths of flowers in their hair, sportive children at play, and young lovers cooing in one another's ears. But these were absent from a song's image of paradise made real, and suddenly Barristan could not help but how lonely these gardens felt to be so beautiful but absent of any to admire it.

The guard that was to escort them into the castle was dismissed by Barristan's white cloaked brother. Ser Oswell joined them at the foot of the watchtower and then walked with them towards the castle. As they did Ser Oswell asked them how they had managed to save the young prince's life, and Barristan had the false honor of explaining not only the escape from the Red Keep but Lord Varys' revelation as well. Ser Oswell was shocked to think that his new King had been here under the protection of Lady Dayne.

"This is glad news indeed. Word had reached us that the entire royal family had been killed when wildfire destroyed the Red Keep," said Ser Oswell as they climbed the steps of the main entrance to the castle.

Barristan explained, "The Red Keep was not destroyed, only part of Maegor's holdfast, from what I've heard confirmed. Ser Jaime, Ser Willem, and myself managed to escape with the Queen and Princesses."

"And what of your brother, Ser Willem?" asked Ser Oswell with some concern.

"Jonothor died in the fire along with the King and Prince Viserys," answered Ser Willem solemnly.

Ser Oswell replied quietly, "Seven bless them all. He was a good man, and a true knight, Ser Willem."

And Ser Willem thanked him for his kind words. This of course led to the inevitable questioning of just why Ser Oswell was doing there if not to guard the life of the infant King. At this Ser Oswell grew silent and suggested that perhaps he ought to see the reason. And as such Ser Oswell, before leading them to the solar of the castle took them through many hallways until they came upon a wing of the castle that Barristan thought might have been one designed for the rearing of the Dayne children. This was confirmed when they passed a door and heard an infant scream from inside. Barristan thought it odd that Ser Oswell had thought nothing of hearing an infant scream, but then mayhaps the Lady Ashara had had her child that she had been found to be with before leaving the capital in shame. At the end of the hall was obviously a birthing chamber, which they entered in silence.

Barristan was unprepared for the sight he saw behind that door—the she-wolf herself, the cause of the entire war, laid there big with child. Seven help them all, the Queen and Princess' plans for peace were undone.


	27. Lysa

**LYSA**

Ever since she had been a small child, Lysa had had the weak, meek, and broken things in life. That's all she had ever had. Being the second daughter, she often got the toys and clothes that Cat had already worn out or discarded. If she'd been a boy, more attention and more gold might have been spent on her. Instead her father—especially after the death of her mother—had decided to be frugal on certain things. She had once as a small child overheard her father and nuncle argue over the subject.

_Her father had said, "Cat's old things are perfectly usable. Why spend more gold than I have to?"_

_"She's just as much your daughter and deserving of her own things, Hoster!" countered her nuncle._

_Her father had insisted, "She will, when she is of age to have need of them. While she is yet a child and apt to go through clothes as quick as a pup becomes a dog, I see little reason why not to reuse what we already have. Cat has little need for them, Lysa does. You had all my old things when we were children, and it did you no harm."_

After hearing that, Lysa had simply accepted it as her fate for as long as she was but a child and Cat remained unmarried, she would simply get all of Cat's old broken things. And she did, from toys, to dresses, to jewelry, to books, to kisses with Petyr, to Petyr himself. Cat would always have the better things in life, and toss what she did not want at Lysa's feet. That is until Lysa herself was of age and the only lady of the house—that would be her time to shine, and like a lady in a song she would show everyone what a true gem had been hidden beneath the mounds of old broken things. She would even show Petyr… and he would forget Cat and love only her. When she had taken him into her bed after the duel with Brandon Stark, Lysa had thought that maybe then Petyr would forget Cat, but instead he called her by her sister's name, and for Petyr's pleasure she pretended to be Cat. One day Petyr would see her not as Cat's replacement, she would be all that he desired, when she got all that she deserved.

Petyr's child had grown in her after he had taken her maidenhood. It was the first thing she was to have that hadn't been Cat's before. She let it grow, convinced that if she did, that this would convince Petyr to see her for her true worth. But her father discovered her and had forced her to drink moontea, turning the only thing, the only thing that had ever been solely hers into blood and sending Petyr away. She had cried for moons afterwards, for the loss of her child and Petyr. But she would find a way to get them back. She would do anything to get them back.

Which is why, when she heard that she was to marry a Lord Paramount herself she was beside herself with joy. As a Lord Paramount's wife she could convince him to find a place for Petyr—he had been sent back to his father's house after her child had been murdered—with little prospects for himself. She would convince Petyr that she was worthy of him as Cat forgot about him and she helped him rise to a station that more suited his many talents. He would be grateful to her, and for once it seemed that Lysa might have something that Cat had not had before. In fact Cat in the situation had had to inherit the lesser, going from the obviously handsome and brutal Brandon Stark to a plain faced and broken Ned Stark. Then Lysa had learned that the Lord Paramount she was to marry was the old Jon Arryn, a man twelve namedays her father's senior, and who was old enough to have been her mother's father. It was not fair—she was not inheriting any of Cat's things, she was practically a woman in her own right—the time her father had said would be when such things would be at an end, and yet still the Seven saw fit to continue to give her the old and broken things in life. She'd continue to play along with her father's plans, for now. But one day… things would be very different.

Then she'd discovered that her husband was dead upon the battlefield. On one end she mourned the loss of her opportunity to strike back through her husband at her father, but on the other hand she was glad that she no longer had to sleep with the quiet old man.

She then came to King's Landing along with Cat when their father had been named Hand of the King, and there she had found to her delight, the young men of the court who were all attentive to a Lady widow. It was in her Lord husband's death that she had found his preeminent advantage—for it certainly had not been in the bedroom. And so she played the part of grieving widow in public while receiving these attentions. Cat thought it improper, but she was a married woman now, big with her plain faced husband's likely plain faced child. Cat had had her fun at Riverrun, now it was Lysa's turn.

Then she had met _him_, the inheritor of her late husband's title and lands, whom one night father had told her she would marry after a respectable period of mourning. It seemed that she was still to be the wife of a Lord Paramount after all. At first she had thought that like Cat she would be inheriting a lesser broken thing—but now that she had seen and come to know Lord Denys broken by grief he may be, but lesser or old? No. He was none of those things. He was handsome, gallant to a fault, young but old enough to have survived the recent deaths of a wife and child, which seemed to press hard on him. In a way he almost reminded her of Petyr—a boy from a lesser house, from a family who cared little if he lived or died, who instead had been sent to be raised with those of better standings than he had dreamed of. But where Petyr had been punished by her father and sent away, her late husband had nourished and helped her soon-to-be husband to grow. Lord Denys was the man Petyr had always wished to become, and thus he was the perfect man to help her help Petyr.

They hardly spoke at first of one another. At first Lord Denys spoke of her late husband, explaining what a good man he had been, and making Lysa feel very ashamed for having thought the things she had at hearing of his demise. Lord Arryn had been a better man than her father had been in similar situations. He would have helped her help Petyr and would have treated her well. And what had she done in return but prayed to the Stranger to take him. She now prayed to the Father for forgiveness and mercy in her rash act. She had been stupid—so caught up with thoughts of Petyr and her father that she had not seen how she could have been blessed with the old Lord Arryn. She prayed to the Stranger that her former husband might find the peace in the next world he had not known in this one, and she most of all prayed to the Crone for wisdom, as she now knew she had little of it to not see things for what they plainly were. She would not be so foolish again.

Soon other topics came up between them, they spoke of their childhoods soon enough, and from that Lysa learned just how similar a situation he and Petyr had had. Petyr had oft talked about feeling out of place in a Lord Paramount's home, being just a Fingerlord's son. While Denys spoke of being the poorer relation to his cousin and his wards. Her father had heaped nothing but criticisms upon poor Petyr—comparing him in everything to the father who had sent Petyr away. Denys instead had been given the proper encouragement and support that a father truly should give his children—all his children.

She spoke of Riverrun and during these times she was careful with how she spoke of Petyr, trying to lay down the foundations for him to see Petyr as she saw him, a boy who just like him needed help in reaching his full potential. Denys asked her of her father and Cat, and to a point she spoke the truth, though whenever she spoke of the little grievances she had held through the years, Denys had countered with:

"But still, you love them not, don't you? I would have loved to have had a brother and sister growing up as you had."

Making Lysa reflect on how lonely it was to be without any close family at all.

Through all their talks she was beginning to grow fond of Denys. He had handsome features. His sharp nose and jaw, his windswept hair of a honey blond hue, and his sky blue eyes all came together to form some of her favorite sights to look upon in King's Landing. His body was strong looking, well-formed no doubt from all the tournaments he'd been in through the years. Cat's husband, the broken Ned Stark, was a monster on the battlefield—everyone spoke of it in hushed tones, with pity that she should be wed to such a man when Cat entered and left a room. Stark was driven to mindless bloodshed through his grief. Denys in comparison knew better how to handle grief. He was still affected by it—this she knew since the subject of his former wife and child was yet a thing they had talked of—but he was not ruled by it. It spoke of Denys' true nature. He had the ability to love and respect, something her former husband had cultivated in him that obviously Cat's savage husband had not taken care to learn.

When the war was finished, the King's bride discovered and crowned Queen, a tournament would be held in honor of her father's ascendancy to the position of Hand. It was agreed that there would be when she would come out of her mourning and her engagement to Denys would be made public. But as she thought more and more towards that future to come she pondered beyond that what else might occur in those days of revelry? In her dreams, Denys would ride and she would tie her favor to his lance. Mayhaps he would win the tournament in her name. She would then be crowned Queen of Love and Beauty. And in earning these things she would be generous, kind, and courteous. For finally she would have something Cat never would have had before: a life like a song.


	28. Lyanna II

**LYANNA**

The room was dark, but she could see shadows standing all around her. It was as if a person's shadow were able to stand on its own without any owner to cast it and it stood free from any surface. Night and day they stood about her, watching. She heard them whisper, never anything she could quite make out, but she heard them. Sometimes though, figures stepped forth from the crowd of shadows that surrounded her and took on faces both familiar and unfamiliar.

The first familiar face to appear before her was when her mother, Lady Lyarra Stark, came and sat on the end of the bed. Mother had died in childbirth along with the babe after Benjen—Lyanna had been but five. But here she sat, as fresh faced as she had been after Benjen, but before the other babe had come and seem to have eaten her alive from the inside out. She sat as Lyanna had always thought of her, in her lovely blue gown—her mother's favorite color—with her hair long and flowing. Along with her appeared her father's mother, Lady Marna, who had died but a year after her mother.

"Oh my little wolf pup… what a mess you have gotten yourself into," sighed her mother as she reached out and held her hand.

"I told her that her wolf's blood would be her undoing, and now she seems apt to prove me right my goddaughter," said her grandmother, dressed all in black, as she had in life since the death of her husband.

"My son will avenge me and right what wrongs I have committed," stated Lyanna, confident in the life growing within her.

"You should right your own wrongs, child," scolded her grandmother.

"I am not a child, not while I have one growing inside of me," insisted Lyanna

"While you still leave your wrongs to be righted by others, you remain a child," declared her grandmother with a scowl.

"I left her too soon, goodmother," regarded her mother as she shook her head and looked away from her.

Her grandmother added, "Aye you did… but the gods demanded it, and so it had to be done."

"I'll do what, mother?" asked another figure, this of a young man, who stepped forward—but he was not her son, her son would not have that hair or those eyes!

"You belong here not, Edrick! Return to the shadows, boy, or you'll frighten her," admonished her grandmother.

"Edrick?" asked Lyanna with curiosity… aye, that was a fine name for a son of hers.

"I'm here, mother," said the shadow of the young man, once again kneeling at her bedside. He took her other hand, so now both of her hands felt as cold as ice. She looked at him again, past his hair and eyes and saw the face of a Stark staring back at her.

At long last she said, "You look fairly young, my son to be standing amongst the dead…"

"He is not yet born, nor will he be for some time," answered her mother.

"There is no distinction between the time to come and the time that has been here," answered Edrick.

"I don't understand what you say…" answered Lyanna

"As you are living, of course you would not, the living never do," answered her grandmother sourly.

"How then am I able to speak with you then?"

At this none of the apparitions seemed to want to speak. It was then that a new apparition came forth, that of Ser Arthur Dayne, holding an infant boy in his arms—her son! He stayed but a short time, but in that time, her mother, grandmother, and son were silent, only speaking once he again had left.

Lyanna commented after they had left, "My son to come has been brought to me by a man who loathes my existence…"

"He's not—" began Edrick.

"Let her think of it like that a little longer, Edrick," insisted her mother.

"Think on what?" asked Lyanna.

"Hush, my dear wolf pup, let us worry of what is to come and what has happened, you just lay back and relax, my wolf pup," soothed her mother, and Lyanna felt her eyes grow heavy as she drifted off to sleep.

When she awoke standing at the foot of her bed was now the green burning vision of her father, and the bloody collared vision of her eldest brother, Brandon, whose blood dribbled down from his neck. She screamed when she saw them, scared at the sight of their horrors. This was not the first time she had seen them, but each time they did appear as they did when they died, and Lyanna swore she could feel the flames about her skin and the choker about her own neck. Her screams drew the attention of a servant—who she knew was no dream—who entered the room and dispersed the shadow visions for the moment. Just as soon as the servant had left the faceless black shadows returned.

Rhaegar appeared to her one night. He spoke not to her but to her unborn child—never calling it by name once—which Lyanna thought was odd. But what frightened her like none other was the sight of a man who wore a mask, with a bronze sword, swinging it right at her unborn son's bulge, who appeared this time with an old man and woman who stood speaking in a language she understood not. Along with them stood the old King, engulfed as her father was in flames, which poured from his mouth and spread about the room.

Immediately after he had passed through his sword through her middle—she felt an icy chill engulf her womb. Immediately she felt a clawing pain inside of her. Gods, help her, the pain was real—very real—she screamed out in horror once again, this time as she felt as though her insides were being drug out of her. Gods the pain… the pain! And then it stopped as fast as it had started… but only to return once her guard had been let down. Her vision turned red, she saw nothing but blood pour into the room, filling it, and her drowning in it. And all through it she felt the pain... nothing but the pain, as she screamed.


	29. Stannis II

**STANNIS**

When he awoke he did not recall where he was or how he had gotten there—all that he could think of was how hungry he was. Eventually this need was satiated when an onion broth was brought and fed to him. He was too weak to even hold the spoon and bowl without spilling the broth on himself. The red-haired man… Corbray? No… Cortnay… Cortnay Penrose, fed him.

"You should not have exerted yourself with that axe, my lord," scolded Ser Cortnay as he gingerly held the spoon out for Stannis to sip from.

_Axe? What axe?_

Hazy memories of a man with only eight fingers faded in and out of his grasp. They were too fleeting to hold onto.

Stannis was confused, and the only way to get answers was to ask, "What happened?"

Ser Cortnay refilled the spoon with broth, this time catching a bit of soft onion for Stannis to have in addition to the broth. As took this next offering, Ser Cortnay replied, "You fainted not long after showing that smuggler a… form of justice with the axe. After which you made it as far as your solar and then simply collapsed. You might not have been noticed for a few hours had your brother not discovered you. Funnily enough, the axe was still in your hands. You're lucky you didn't split yourself open when you fell with it."

His thoughts were still a jumbled mess, but the story his castellan spoke began to take shape in his head as he comprehended, "I fainted?"

Ser Cortnay nodded his head, and offered the spoon yet again as he said, "Aye, but I would not hold that against yourself—a lesser man would've been dead a long time ago. If you don't mind my saying so, my lord, during the siege it was rather noble of you, to sacrifice so much for your brother and people—believe me, before you set fire to that cart, that alone had kept the castle alive with the determination to continue the siege—even if the Stranger was sharing our beds each night. But the siege is now over my lord, and your body needs more than just the meager helpings you gave it. Contrary to the opinion of others, you are a man, like any other—you are not made of stone… and a man can only go so far denying himself the largess what he needs to live. I truly know not how you've managed to keep going for the months you have on the meager portions you've allowed yourself—most would have died, of that I'm sure. Come now, eat a bit more broth."

Ser Cortnay certainly was insistent that he eat, but Stannis felt his stomach turn at the thought of yet another spoonful of the onion broth, and he said, "If I eat any more I won't be able to keep it down, I think."

The red-haired knight smiled and then set down the bowl and spoon on the small table next to Stannis' bed and said, "Ahh… well, I'll leave it here for the moment then, my lord, and you can have more of it later if you so desire—though I will warn you against letting it sit for too long, broths and soups are not good cold. I will return later to take whatever is left to the kitchen."

_He will return… would anyone else?_

A thought flitted through his head, that of servants leaving in droves, Renly running off with Robert's other brother, his parents' boat tossing amongst the stormy waters of Shipbreaker Bay and crashed against its rocks. Him alone… totally alone.

These thoughts led Stannis to rather unceremoniously asking, "Ser Cortnay why are you here?"

Ser Cortnay looked at him for a moment before responding, "You're too weak to feed yourself, my lord."

Stannis shook his head—he did not mean that at all. He then said, "No… why didn't you leave with the others after…?"

_After I burned that food…_

Recognition dawned upon Ser Cortnay's face and he responded: "Ahh, I see your meaning. To be honest, someone needs look after you and the young Lord Renly."

"I am a man grown," insisted Stannis weakly.

Ser Cortnay, who was a several years older than Robert, chuckled, stood, and then responded, "Aye, you are, and have done much for others at the expense of yourself. Now the time has come for others to take care of you like you did them. Recover yourself, my lord. Starvation does many things to the mind and body of a man—none of which are of any benefit—only time and rest will take them away."

_Sleep? Yes… sleeping was a good idea…_

Already Stannis' eyes began to droop as Ser Cortnay finished speaking. Soon everything was dark again. When he awoke later he heard the fumbling voice of a child as he tried to read aloud.

_Renly…_

Stannis cracked one eye—the one closest to the voice—open and indeed saw his little brother sitting by his bed, the large book of tales of the Storm Kings of old opened and awkwardly too big for Renly to hold normally. So he leaned it against Stannis' bed and body, his face focused solely on the words on the page that he barely could fit together to read. Surely this must be a dream… Renly had talked of running off with the wolf… what was his name? Blood Wolf? That sounded about right.

The current tale Renly told, if Stannis recognized it right was about King Pyerce Durrandon—the Storm King who stood against the Ironborn when they began turning their sights to the rich fertile lands of what was now the Riverlands-but then was part of the Stormlands' domains. The man seemed to have been made of stone to have stood against the Ironborn. Unfortunately his greatest strength also proved to have been his greatest weakness as he had been so unmovable that he'd been predictable—and thus an easy target for the Ironborn to eventually assassinate before meeting battle with Pyerce's second son, Trynton the Unready.

"And as he… stoob… upon the… walls of… Seaguard he—"

"Stood… not stoob," corrected Stannis weakly.

"Right. He stoo—_duh_ upon the walls—" and Renly stopped in the middle of his sentence and his head shot up with his eyes meeting' Stannis'. A look of relief seemed to enter the young toddler's eyes—much to Stannis' surprise. Renly dropped the book and leapt onto the bed, greeting Stannis' awakening with as much joy a boy nearly five name days seemed apt to have. As Renly burrowed himself next to Stannis in a clingy hug, Stannis felt at once scared of what to do next, and somewhat happy. It was not a dream, his brother was _his_ after all.


	30. Ashara

**ASHARA**

When she awoke, it was night and she felt terribly cold—as though a Crownland winter had descended upon her room in Starfall. After pulling the light covers tighter against her shivering skin, she tried to think of anything else but the cold.

How had she awoken? Had it been the cold? She instinctually knew that _No…_ was the answer to the latter.

There was a moment or two of confusion until it registered just what exactly _had_ awoken her—screaming. The screaming echoed through the halls and into her room.

Ashara's first thoughts were of Arthur—was he safe? Did he scream? She was still too drowsy to determine the difference of pitch or tone to the scream, so her mind ran quickly to the worst of all conclusions. Her brother had fallen and reopened his chest wound, and now was laying upon his floor, bleeding to death. Horrified at this thought, Ashara roused herself. She had to help Arthur!

And so through the cold and increasing numbness she felt, Ashara shrugged on her heaviest silk shift and with an oil lamp in her hands, she tottered out constantly in pain on unsteady feet. The further from her room she got, the easier it became to distinguish between where the screaming was coming from in Starfall. The screams came not from the direction of Arthur's chambers. Instead they came from the nursery wing.

_The babes!_

Thankfully the nursery was far closer than Arthur's chambers. What truly marked Ashara as odd was that she had not yet encountered any sign of life in the castle at all. It was as though the entire castle had been abandoned while she slept. When she at last reached the nursery wing curiously enough Ashara found that the nursery door itself was closed—as were all the other doors in the nursery wing.

_Odd, extremely odd…_

Eager to be sure of her son's safety, Ashara opened the door and peered inside. Instantly a strong mixed odor of Chamomile, Poppies, and Peppermint overwhelmed her smell and another wave of drowsiness she had not known since leaving her room washed over her. There was sleep incense burning! And if she did not close the door immediately, she would collapse asleep dead away. But she had to see if her son fared well! In the brief instant she allowed herself to look into the drugged nursery, she saw Wylla asleep in her chair, with both boys asleep in her arms—all three seeming to dream something peaceful by the contented looks upon each of their faces. Ashara closed the door as quickly as she could in her weakened state—exhausting all of her strength in doing so. When at long last the task had been completed Ashara sighed briefly with a bit of relief. She leaned against the door and then slid on her side down it to the ground.

And through all of this, the screams did continue, but it was only now that she was able to distinguish that the screams sounded awfully similar to what child birthing would sound like when her time to give birth to child had come from the birthing room. Almost immediately she reckoned that it might be… _oh Seven help me, Ned's sister!_ But it was far too early for her to be giving birth now—far too early.

Half-curious and half-terrified for what she would find behind that door—Ashara pulled herself up off the ground and hobbled over to the door leading to the birthing chamber. Aye, the screams came from that room. When Ashara finally found her strength to continue on into the chamber, she was first greeted by the foul smell of myrrh, frankincense and roses, with a distinctive smell of angelica and coltsfoot in the mixture—two very powerful herbs that should never be burned together! On occasion Amyrilla would burn one or the other if she were interested in communing with Mother Rhoyne or to see a vision of what was to come—but she had clearly warned Ashara that to mix angelica and coltsfoot would be irresponsible and bring naught but trouble.

At the foot of the bed half-standing and half-huddled over a basket, was Minara, Ashara's own servant that she had brought from the Crownlands. Minara had faithfully followed her, even after Ashara had told her to return. She had traveled with her when fleeing the capital when Ashara was only beginning to show signs of being pregnant. If it had been discovered she'd been with Ned's child so soon after his father's and Brandon's deaths, she would have been held hostage to try and stop the rebellion in its tracks. And after seeing Brandon strangle himself to death as he struggled to reach the sword just out of his reach to rescue his burning father, Ashara had wanted the rebellion to succeed if for no other reason than to see Aerys meet an end deserving a tyrant and that Ned would live.

And now Ned's sister lay on the bed screaming wildly as blood poured from her. For a fleeting second seemed as though a waterfall of blood poured forth from Lyanna—but in the blink of an eye it had vanished. The incense! It would drive her to see visions of things that weren't there if she stayed too long, which it seemed Minara had. Minara was mumbling wildly in a language that resembled Valyrian that Ashara could not quite understand, and looking wildly about as though frightened of something. Furthermore, though Ashara had entered the room, neither she nor Lyanna seemed to have recognized her having done so. Were the visions that strong that one could not distinguish them from reality? As the waterfall of blood again appeared and disappeared Ashara knew that something had to be done about the incense.

With some effort, Ashara moved towards the burner, which held a coil of pressed herbs that burned slowly. Picking up the burner, Ashara staggered to the window and with some force opened it and pushed the burner through it. The clattering of metal hitting the stone below reassured her that she had indeed done the right thing. She left the window open with hopes that the fresh air would soon dissipate the noxious fumes left behind. But as she turned around, Ashara could see that she might have already smelled too much of the mixture for her own good as the room seemed to float in unending darkness—the floors gone and nothing but stars surrounded her, Minara, and Lyanna. Stars which moved in such intrinsic patterns that they seemed to dance… and as they danced, Ashara thought she heard them whisper. Another scream from Lyanna brought Ashara to her senses.

_No. They aren't real._

Lyanna was in labor and needed her help. Minara easily stood aside, fading into a comet that passed. It was then that Ashara saw that the head of the babe was crowning, and Ashara did her best to urge Lyanna to push. Soon with much effort from Lyanna, the tiny body slid out and into Ashara's waiting arms. And the sight could not have been more terrifying. The babe was deformed—scales like a lizard, a snout and fangs like a wolf, and long claws, which sunk into the flesh of Ashara's arms.

She fainted not soon after.


	31. Jason

**JASON**

When Driftmark was far enough behind them, the Queen dowager had turned to him and spoke plainly, in a low whisper of a voice.

"If you are to join me on Dragonstone, it won't be as the honorable Lord Jason Mallister, champion of tournaments."

"It will not?" asked Jason

She lowered her head as she answered, as though she were pained to admit what she had to, "Unfortunately your liege lord was all too right about others misusing myself and my family for their own ends. Luckily we've discovered the plot and want to… well nip it in the bud, as the old Reach phrase goes."

He asked, "Why are you telling me this?"

She took a few moments to gather herself and lean closer to him before answering in an even softer whisper, "Because, Lord Jason, I've seen you at those tournaments—you almost unseated my son at Storm's End once, if you hadn't purposely lost and don't deny that, my son was many things but he would not have won any tourneys had he not been born a prince—and so I believe you to be an honorable man and a true knight. I would have you help my family bring about the end to this plot."

_Plots, what of your own plots?_

"How do I know this isn't some trap to find an excuse to execute me once I set foot on Dragonstone?"

She freely admitted, "You don't, but if you show up on Dragonstone looking like Lord Jason Mallister, your life won't be the only one in danger—mine will be so as well, so it's either that or I have you swim back to Driftmark—which I would not suggest in all that armor—or you take a risk and trust me."

"Or I commandeer this boat and steer it all the way to King's Landing," he countered.

She gave a small laugh before saying, "You could very well do that. Which is why I must say that you have the upper hand in this situation as I doubt the fisherman would truly care where he sailed to as long as we eventually depart his boat."

They had time yet before they arrived at Dragonstone, so he said, "If there is a plot, tell it to me."

The Queen looked briefly at the fisherman on the other side of the boat before returning her eyes and whispers to him, "In front of a fisherman with perfectly fine ears? Do you truly think me a fool, Lord Mallister?"

"And yet you approached me in front of the very same fisherman," he countered.

"When one is cornered, one does many things which to others who have the luxury of choice, seem rather foolish," answered the Queen.

To answer this, Jason took his sword and with his handle knocked the fisherman unconscious and took control of his boat from him.

He spoke freely as he adjusted the rudder an pulled taught on the main sheet line, collecting more wind with the sail and making them sail just a bit faster—more his usual speed in a boat this size, "I'd say you're cornered enough, your grace—and without ears to hear you if you speak plain."

"A lesser man simply would've tossed the fisherman off the boat," regarded the Queen with some respect.

He answered plainly, stating, "Aye, but a man might have more than one mouth to feed."

The Queen dowager sighed, and then said, "True. All right, Lord Mallister, I'll tell you the truth—the entire truth."

And so the dowager dragon Queen sung. She sung a song of her unconscious escape with her gooddaughter and granddaughter from King's Landing—of the Spider's supposed switch of the young infant prince, and of how the Princess Elia knew he lied. She also sung of how she and the Princess plotted to bring down the Spider's web from within it, a feat that Jason had never seen a fly yet perform.

"If you are so worried about Lord Varys and his plans, why not just kill him and be done with the ruse?" asked Jason.

"If Elia is correct, then the man is but one face of a larger scheme—the child had to come from somewhere, and if he falls—others may come to take his place. Besides which the eunuch has ears and eyes everywhere—almost as many as Bloodraven had."

"And how then, can I help you with your little scheme?" asked Jason.

The Queen looked rather lost as she spoke, "In truth I know not at the moment, but I will know how when the time arises."

Once arriving upon Dragonstone, they went immediately to a small hut that the Queen explained was home to the only friend she had in the world: Arella, a woman about the Queen's age, who was surely one of the many dragonseed he had heard tales of living on Dragonstone. He was quickly invited to change his clothes for ones more apropos for the servant Daenon that Jason was to pass himself for. His own armor and clothes he took with him in a satchel—as he would likely need them one day, the Queen explained.

When asked about Arella, who had obviously given some of what little clothing her husband wore on what seemed to Jason to be a whim, the Queen dowager explained rather simply: "We played together as girls when I lived on this island—until my lord father discovered her and brought me to King's Landing."

Clothes made acting the part of a servant rather easier, Jason found. Without his white eagle upon his chest, Jason found the world to be far different—he was overlooked as he walked, spoken about even when he was fully present, and often ignored rather carelessly by others who presumed themselves to be of higher birth than Jason pretended to be. All in all, Jason found the experience of being the Queen's personal servant to be an education in itself of just the life of one of his own—and Jason vowed to treat his servants better when he returned to Seaguard. For a servant's life seemed to be one consisting of always cleaning up after the messes of his or her masters, and it seemed the higher the lord the bigger the mess they left in their wake.

Jason's opportunity to be of assistance to the Queen had appeared far sooner than either of them had anticipated. One evening, while cleaning up after an evening's entertainment upon the terrace, Jason happened to come across a letter that had seemingly been carelessly forgotten in a stack of papers that Lord Varys had brought for the Queen and Princess' attention—trying to goad them into making that journey to Pentos as much as he could.

The letter itself was short and anonymous.

_I have sent the wine you have requested and expect you and the red dragons in my palace before the moon has turned. If all goes as you say, then our black dragon is lost to us. No matter, there will be another to eventually take his place._

Jason knew not how to interpret the letter but he immediately knew that the Queen and Princesses were in danger of it and some wine. Jason went directly to the Queen and Princess Elia with the letter in his hand. The Queen grew pale after having read its contents—the Princess instead becoming furious.

"We need to act now," insisted Jason.

The Queen was silent, but Elia seemed to become focused when he said this, turning directly to her last Kingsguard available to her. She reminded him, "Ser Jaime, you know what we agreed upon."

"It shall be done, my princess," agreed the white cloak and with a slight bow he was gone.

"Daenon, it is time to become the white eagle once again," said the Queen quietly.

Jason smiled and took the armor he had hid in her room and donned it once again. When he had finished doing so, Ser Jaime returned with a look of shock on his face.

"What is wrong, Ser Jaime?" asked the Princess.

Ser Jaime spoke while trying to catch his breath—as though he had run from the other end of the castle to tell what he had come to say, "Lord Varys is fled… with the Princess!"


End file.
